


First Impressions

by Veeebles



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Attempted Rape, F/M, Family, I hate tagging, balls, but not ll bad i promise!, joffrey being a meanie, mentions of abuse, mild violence, preety gowns, pride and prejudice au, protective sandor, renissance era, tyrion playing matchmaker, wicked earl au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-13 20:15:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 33
Words: 49,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4535823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Veeebles/pseuds/Veeebles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She knew he wouldn't hurt her. He was gruff and angry and so honest his words cut like a blade, but he wouldn't hurt her. She could see the vulnerability in those grey depths, hear the desperate plead in his voice. Deep under that angry exterior he wanted her to understand. And she needed more than anything to know the truth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by The Wicked Earl by Margaret McPhee and Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen (set in that time period and following a mix of both storylines – a few twists here and there to fit the characters).
> 
> Characters all belong to the wonderful though evil Game of Thrones series by GRRM, I'm just playing with them.
> 
> this isn't posted as a crossover because i don't consider it as one since it is a inspiration of both storylines and mostly made up.
> 
> V

A sharp gasp and a huff of annoyance was all the warning Sansa received before the handkerchief Arya had been attempting to embroider was thrown at her feet, the needle following a moment after.

Sansa sighed and looked to her younger sister who sat sucking on her finger where she had received yet another stab from the sewing needle.

"Gods damn whoever came up with embroidery!" the younger Stark daughter yelled, crossing her arms and bringing her knees up to her chest, slouching messily in the chair across Sansa's.

"You have too little patience," Sansa remarked, gently laying down her own sewing and leaned forwards to pick up Arya's. She smoothed it out on her lap and frowned at the haphazard sewing. Where the stitches were to be small and neat and orderly, Arya had impatiently sewed all over the place, making it look like someone has scribbled with thread all over the delicate silk.

"This is dreadful, Governess Mordane will not be pleased" she said, Arya laughed in reply.

"That old hag is never pleased with anything I do!"

"That is because you never try! And don't use such language, you are a lady"

"Gods you sound just like her"

Sansa ignored her younger sibling and went back to her sewing, smiling fondly at her neat work, her stitches small and perfect, forming the shape of a swallow sitting in a white tree with leaves as red as blood.

Arya huffed again and moved to the window, glaring out at the heavy rain. Usually, Arya would be out in the sun and wind, running in the fields, climbing trees, or play fighting with their older brother Robb and their cousin Jon. But on a day such as this, when the rain threatened anyone who ventured in it with illness, they remained inside.

Sansa never minded, as much as she enjoyed long walks in the sun and flowers, she was perfectly content sitting in their drawing room sewing a new dress or playing and singing at the piano. Arya however, hated it.

The door opened and their mother came in, holding a book. She smiled to them both and leaned over to admire Sansa's work.

"You improve every day, everything is always so perfect and beautiful, Sansa" her mother told her fondly.

"Arya, where is yours?" she asked, looking pointedly at the small brunette slouching at the window.

"I gave up, mother I hate sewing! Can't I do something else?"

Catelyn laughed at that and sat on the chair beside the fireplace, "Arya all you don't hate are things that are for boys to do."

"They're much more fun!" Arya complained, moving to sit next to her mother, leaning against her.

"Oh grow up, Arya" Sansa snapped at her, it always annoyed her how her sister would do nothing but complain and didn't even try to be a proper lady.

"Sansa, don't shout at your sister."

"She started it with her stubbornness!-"

They were interrupted by to door opening and their father entered.

"Bickering as usual, always good to be home" he said, going to mother and kissing her softly.

"I have news for you all, Robb! Jon! Come here please!" he called loudly.

The two entered soon after. Robb was 20 years old, tall and handsome with dark auburn hair and blue eyes of their mother's side of the family, but many would say he had the Stark mannerism, seeming solemn and quiet but those who knew him well knew his smile and laugh and easy manner which made him very well liked and sought after.

Jon on the other hand took after the Stark's completely. This was of course because he was their cousin; his father had died while fighting in the regiment and his mother in giving birth to him. Father had taken him in as one of their own and he was treated as a brother and son. His hair was dark as his eyes and he was younger than Robb, 19 years old but almost as tall as him.

Their father spoke; "I have some news for you all. The great house in Kingsland Park has been purchased at last."

The news was indeed surprising, no one had lived in that house for some time; mainly due to how expensive it was to keep. Whoever was moving there now must be of substantial fortune.

"It has been bought by a family by the name of Baratheon, they moved in about a week past."

"Oh how exciting" Sansa breathed, mother smiled at her and she saw Robb and Jon exchange excited looks.

Father continued, "I called upon them this morning – Sansa noticed their mother raise her eyebrows in surprise and lean forwards -"they are quite amiable people. The owner, Robert Baratheon is quite a man," father said smiling. "He is married, her name is Cersei I believe, and they have three children; a boy of 19 years named Joffrey, a daughter named Mycrella and another boy, Tomen. I am not sure but I think they are of ages with Bran and Rikon. Cersei's brothers are also with them – Jamie her twin and Tyrion though I didn't have the pleasure of meeting them"

"My, this sounds wonderful" her mother breathed, smiling at Sansa. The mention of Joffrey had lightened Sansa's spirits, he was only a year or so older than Sansa, and being of a family of such fortune he could present as a possible suitor for her. She wondered what he looked like, probably like the handsome, golden haired knights in the stories mother would read her as a child.

"Will we meet them, father?" Robb asked

Ned Stark smiled as all eyes were on him, he was a handsome man, and age had not taken that from him. He looked every bit a Stark; a heavy, solemn face and dark features. But he was a loving husband and father, put his family before all else and loved them all dearly. He was a wise man, wisdom that Catelyn had often said sparkles in his eyes. He was honest and well liked by all.

"They are holding a ball in 3 days, you will all meet them then."

Robb and Jon grinned at each other and Sansa, Catelyn went to her husband, hugging him, "oh how wonderful, isn't your father wonderful for calling upon them?" she said, kissing his head.

"Bran and Rikon will stay with Governess Mordane, of course, they are still too young for their first balls" father continued. Bran and Rikon were the youngest sons of the Stark family, Bran only 8 years and Rikon but 6.

"Of course, Arya you will come too".

"Father must I? I hate balls, they are so boring and I loathe dancing"

"Arya don't spoil it!"

"Hush, Sansa, Arya you will come, you were not present at the ball the Tyrells held, it would be rude for you not to be present at this one" her mother said.

"I don't care, I hate them! Why -"

"Arya, enough." He father said. His voice was quiet but full of steel.

Arya huffed but said no more.


	2. Chapter 2

Sansa could barely contain her excitement as their carriage finally slowed to a halt before the entrance to the Baratheon estate.

 

She had spent the three days until the ball preparing, making a new dress of beautiful sky blue silk. She had slaved away embroidering the neckline with white branches and birds mid flight. Her long, auburn hair had been brushed until it shone and two strands pulled back from her face, secured with a pearled clasp her mother had given her. Sansa was a very beautiful young girl. Her skin was pale and soft and clear. She had the Tully looks; high cheekbones, thick, silky auburn hair, sparkling blue eyes and all the grace one could wish for. She was tall for her age, and gifted, very accomplished speaking many languages, being able to sew, draw, sing, play, dance, she was quite sought after.

 

The carriage door opened and father stepped out, turning to help mother out. Robb was next who turned and did the same for Sansa. She smiled at him and took his hand as she carefully stepped out of the carriage, holding her long skirts and the hem of her cloak so she wouldn't trip.

 

He was looking very dashing, wearing a dark green velvet jacket that Sansa had stitched silver patterns into around the sleeves, his hair had been cut and scented, he had shaven his stubbly beard and his grin made him look like a prince straight out of one of Sansa's stories.

 

Sansa turned and saw Jon help Arya put of the carriage. Even she had made an effort tonight. Her dark hair was pinned back from her face, curled with irons and tumbling down her back. She wore a simple blue dress with flowers around the neckline and she had a jeweled clasp in her hair – which Sansa had all but chased her around the room for her to wear.

 

Jon looked as handsome as Robb, with a jacket of dark blue that Sansa had also embroidered around the sleeve ends with a pattern of her own design. He had his hair cut and his beard shaved too and he smiled at her as they all walked into the huge manor.

 

Sansa was in awe; the house was like a fairy-tale palace, all gold and silver and white, beautiful furniture and paintings. The floors were scrubbed and polished until they shone, the air ablaze with candles. It seemed that all of Westeros were there tonight, the air filled with chat and laughter and music. Lords and Ladies stood here and there; the ladies’ dresses an array of lace, chiffon, embroidered silk, and jewels Sansa could not even name. It seemed every person of noble birth were here, indeed, Sansa was used to being acquainted with high society, her father’s fortune and connections meant they often touched shoulders with rich gentlemen and even royalty. However, Sansa had never seen so many fineries in all her years.

 

They followed Father and mother and Sansa saw the Baratheon family standing at the foot of the grand staircase, greeting their guests. Mr Baratheon was a large man, but his face was rosy and friendly, he grinned when he saw father and embraced him in a bear hug like they were old friends.

 

"Ned Stark! Pleasure to see you, man, so glad you could come! And this must be your wife!-"

 

As her mother curtsied Sansa's eyes wandered to the rest of his family.  Beside Mr Baratheon stood a tall and most like the most beautiful lady Sansa had ever beheld. Her hair was like spun gold, piled on top of her head in an elaborate fashion, red jewels sparkling here and there. Her dress was long and as red as blood, gold patterns sewed all over and jewels of all sizes, such detailing surely would have taken months to complete. She looked like a fairy-tale queen, her face was beautiful but her eyes were cold. Sansa thought it simply because of nervousness, after all the majority of people there must be strangers to her and her family.

 

"…And this is my eldest daughter, Sansa" she heard her father say, she stepped forwards and curtsied to Mr. Baratheon.

 

"My she's a beauty" he remarked, bowing to her and kissing the back of her offered hand, "pleasure to meet you, Miss Stark"

 

Father introduced Robb, Jon and Arya and Robert turned to the beautiful woman beside him. "This is my wife, Cersei," she smiled and curtsied to them all, "and this is her twin brother, Jaime" Robert continued. Sansa looked and her eyes found the most handsome man she had ever seen, esy to tell they were twins. His hair was golden like Cersei's and he had the same beauty as her, he smiled and bowed low to them, Sansa hurriedly curtsied in return, almost forgetting her manners.

 

"And this is Tyrion, her other brother…" Sansa's eyes found an empty space beside Mr Jaime Lannister. However, the nose of a throat being cleared loudly had her dropping her eyes closer to the ground she was most surprised to see a dwarf standing there. He looked up at them with mis-matched eyes that dared mockery but seemed to mock you all the same. A mop of messy golden hair crowned his head. His clothes were rich and made to fit him. Though Sansa noted he must be uncomfortable for he kept swaying where he stood. He was not a handsome man but for a dwarf he was not ghastly. Sansa had heard some awful stories of dwarfed children, mostly of what happened to them. This man was lucky to be born in a rich family that loved him.

 

Tyrion smiled up at her and bowed, "Miss Sansa, pleasure to meet you" his voice seemed thick and he stumbled a little in his bow so Mr Jaime reached out a hand to steady him.

 

Sansa's eyes found Cersei's face as she scowled and looked away.

 

"And that is my eldest son, Joffrey-" Robert spoke loudly, taking the attention from the dwarf to the boy that stood beside him. Sansa's heart fluttered as she looked upon his face. He was tall, very handsome and bore the same golden hair as his mother. He was dressed in the same fineries as his uncle; a roaring lion emblazoned on his chest in golden thread sewn elegantly into his red jacket. He kissed her hand when she offered it to him in greeting and Sansa felt her stomach flutter at the touch. His mouth held a secret smile as he bowed also, his eyes upon Sansa all the while. She blushed and glanced down, as she curtsied.

 

"I have two others but they are too young for balls" Robert finished.

 

"We are honoured that you could join us tonight" Cersei spoke, her voice like velvet.

 

"We thank you for inviting us," Her mother replied, smiling softly, “It is good to see this house filled once more, you have decorated it most exquisitely.”

Cersei smiled but made no reply, looking to her husband who clapped his hands together, grinning.

"Come, enjoy yourselves," he boomed at them, "drink, dance, be merry! I have more blasted guests to greet" Sansa noticed Cersei's eyes narrow and her mouth thin at her husband's words but she said not a word. As they moved away, Sansa could still feel Joffrey's eyes upon her and she forced herself not to look back at him.

 

They moved toward the swelling music, through the throng of people, Sansa heard a squeal and turned to see her dear friend Margery Tyrell skip towards her.

 

Margery was known for her beauty, she had thick brown hair that tumbled past her waist in perfect curls. Her face was delicate, her air graceful. Like Sansa she made most of her own dresses, all in soft colours, though many murmured here and there about her neckline being lower than was proper. Tonight her dress was of a soft pink, floating around her like a sunset painted cloud. Her hair was pinned atop her head, decorated with small pink rosebuds and she smelled of flowers. She hugged Sansa and took her hand, laughing and pulling her into the glorious ballroom.

 

"So, how did you find Joffrey Lannister?" she asked, her voice like silk, a sly smile on hr rosy lips.

 

Sansa blushed and smiled back at her dear friend, "he is very handsome"

 

"Isn't he?" Margery gushed, linking her arm into Sansa's, "and he is rich, could make a very amiable husband."

“Hush, Margey,” though Sansa was fighting a grin, “we have only just met!”

“Well, we shall see my dear friend, I think there could be talk of wedding bells any day now! Sansa Lannister, now doesn’t that sound fine?”

Sansa hurriedly shushed her, blushing furiously as they neared Margery’s brother, Loras who stood with a man, tall, dark and handsome.

 

"Oh! Miss Stark, allow me to introduce you!" Loras greeted her, gesturing to the man beside him, "this is Mr Renly Baratheon, Robert's brother"

 

Mr Renly bowed to her and smiled friendly, "pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Stark, Margery and Loras have told me so much about you already" he said, sharing a look with Loras.

 

Sansa smiled and curtsied, ever remembering her lessons, "it is a pleasure to make yours" she said.

 

"Who is that man?" Margery asked suddenly, nodding her chin over to the opposite side of the ballroom. Sansa followed her gaze and her eyes found Joffrey, but her attention was quickly drawn to a man standing just behind him. He was very tall, and broad, imposingly so – a man of strength. He wore simple clothes; a white flannel shirt, black waistcoat, jacket and trousers. But his face; the entire right side of his face was a ruin of scars, even from where they stood Sansa could see how gruesome they were. They were the scars of burnt flesh. The man's hair was brushed over to cover them but it did very little to help. He was scowling and stood silent, his eyes watching everyone in the room. He radiated power and danger and Sansa's stomach fluttered in fear.

 

"He is a friend of the Lannisters, his name is Sandor Clegane," Renly spoke up, "He owns Clegane manner after his brother passed away recently; worth 3 thousand a year. A decent fortune, but he is a wicked man. Everyone is terrified of him, he drinks all the time and has a dreadful temper, and that awful face, no one knows how he got those scars but I wouldn't care to."

 

"Nor I" said Margery. Sansa remained silent.

 

"His brother was worse, and even bigger than he of you can believe it" Renly continued after taking a sip from his wine, he leaned forwards, drawing their little group in to speak lowly, "many say he killed his parents and the sister for the family fortune."

 

Sansa felt nauseous, what a horrible story. She was finding it difficult not to keep staring at Mr Clegane. How could such a man with such a disgraceful past – even if it were false – be allowed here? Surely Mr Baratheon would not care to have such a reputation under his roof let alone standing with his son? She felt anger and disgust boil within her, wanting nothing more than that hideous man away from Joffrey and out of her sight.

Her dark brooding was interrupted by the sudden appearance of her brother, Robb's face as he appeared before her.

 

"Care to dance, sister?" he asked, grinning.

 

Sansa retuned his smile and took his arm as he offered her, glad for the distracion, letting him lead her onto the floor.

 

They joined the dancers as a new song began. It was a fast dance, where each partner spun together then danced around everyone else before joining again and skipping heartily together before turning and starting again. Sansa laughed as she danced among many faces she knew, earning a grin and greeting here and there. She loved to dance and she loved to dance with Robb. Since her first ball she always saved at least one dance for him.

 

At the end they clapped for the band and her brother led her back to their parents.

 

Robb stood with Jon and they conversed and laughed together before departing after spotting their close friend, Theon Greyjoy as he arrived.

 

Sansa danced with Loras, then Renly, then Jon, Robb again, her father, then Theon, then a few others, everyone blurring together as the night went on. The music was merry, the company charming, the room elegant, like something out of one of her books. She smiled and basked in it all. She loved balls, loved the sociality of them, the opportunity to dress up and show off her accomplishments, mayhaps even meet her husband in whatever dance came next. At the thought her eyes strayed to find Joffrey but instead met with those of Mr. Clegane and her stomach tightened as she found his eyes looking right back at her.

 

"May I have the next dance, sweet lady?" Sansa jumped, startled and turned to see none other than Joffrey Baratheon standing before her. His mouth was still smiling with a secret and he held out his hand.

 

"I would be honored" Sansa replied, placing her hand in his and letting him lead her to the floor. She smiled as she felt all eyes on her, allowing herself the selfish acknowledgement that Joffrey had not danced all night until now and had chosen to do so with her. She felt her stomach flutter nervously as she turned to face him.

 

The music began and all her concentration went into remembering the steps and making sure not to make any mistakes. Joffrey's eyes bore into her all the while and she welcomed the attention, pleased that he seemed only interested in her. She danced gracefully, he was a fine dancer too; light on his feet, moving gracefully with her, as if they had been made for one another. But all too soon the music came to an end.

 

Joffrey tucked her hand under his arm and led her back to her family. He turned to her and bowed, smiling through his blonde fringe and kissing the back of her hand "thank you for the honour, Miss Stark" she curtsied and then he was gone.

 

Margery smiled at her, gushing how lucky she was. She looked to her mother and was surprised to see her watching her with a frown. As soon as she noticed her daughter's gaze on her however she smiled, but Sansa had a lingering feeling of doubt.

 

Worries were soon forgotten in the lively atmosphere and Sansa thought this the best ball she had been to yet. Finding herself thirsty after dancing almost every dance, she moved to the room which held refreshments; delicious foods of all kinds and bowls of wines and drinks she couldn't even name. She picked herself a small glass of watered wine and turned to find Mrs Baratheon standing behind her.

 

"What a beautiful dress, child. Did you make it yourself?" The woman's voice was like honey and said with a smiling mouth. But Sansa could still see that cold hardness in her brilliant green eyes that made her slightly uneasy.

 

"I did, thank you" Sansa smiled, blushing delicately at such a compliment from this beautiful woman.

 

"You are be quite an accomplished girl, aren’t you? You can sew, dance…I’d wager you have a lovely singing voice and a fair hand. You would make a fine wife."

 

Sansa blinked, wondering if that should be as hint for a betrothal to Joffrey. He had shown only interest in her, not even Margery with her perfect grace, smiles and beauty earned a dance from him. She thanked her and excused herself, eager to find her friend and tell her.

 

The night passed quickly, and when it was time to leave, Sansa was charged with finding Arya - An impossible task.

 

Sansa huffed as she wandered the emptying ballroom, glancing under tables or behind chairs. Arya had a habit of playing hide and seek with the young servants or younger children that were occasionally present on these nights. She never danced, never spoke to anyone, and never followed any of the proper formalities. Instead she preferred running around and acting like a wildling and it embarrassed Sansa so.

 

She reached the bottom of the grand staircase in the hall; she looked up into the shadowed landing of the first floor. If she wasn't in the ballroom there was no doubt she would be up there.

 

Sansa gathered her skirts in her hands delicately and mounted the stairs, glancing around at the empty hallway as she did; terrified that someone should see her being so rude as to explore the private quarters of their hosts. But the sooner she found Arya and returned to her family the better.

 

She reached the first floor and squinted in the darkness, the only light provided by the moon's glow shining through the windows. She crept to the first door and knocked gently, "Arya. Arya are you in there?" she whispered.

 

After no reply she opened the door, being as quiet as possible and poked her head around. The room was very dark, but even in the shadows Sansa could see it was empty.

 

With a huff she closed the door again and tried the next one. Empty. So was the next door. She crossed the corridor and tried the next door which was locked.

 

"Gods, why am I cursed with such a sister?" Sansa hissed to herself as she moved to the next door, her temper rising.

 

"Lost, girl?"

 

Sansa jumped at the rough, gravely voice and spun around, her hair flying around her.

 

She could swear her heart stopped in that instant. Mr. Clegane stood in front of her, his back to the light and music coming up the stairs from the ballroom below. His figure was silhouetted and he loomed over her in shadows.

 

Sansa lowered her gaze and breathed to try and calm her racing heart, "I...I apologize, sir …I am looking for my sister…"

 

"Don't call me that. Your sister?" she heard him say as she stared at the ground in front of her feet, "why would you be looking for her here?"

 

"She…she dislikes these functions…she…has been known to…hide throughout…them"

 

"She's downstairs. Looking for you."

 

"Down…thank you…si- Mr. Clegane" she said, ignoring the pang of annoyance at her sister and focusing on keeping her eyes downcast and curtsying quickly before moving around him, back to her family.

 

A strong hand gripped her wrist and she was spun around. Mr Clegane looked into her eyes as he leaned close to her, she dropped her gaze instantly to the floor and tried not to scream.

 

"Fucking look at me" he growled and she flinched at his language and the smell of wine on his breath. His grip tightened painfully on her wrist and she looked up into his eyes. Her stomach lurched at the sight of his scars.

 

"Please…let me go" she pleaded, her voice but a whisper, her eyes trained upon the scars that were more gruesome up close and in this dark light.

 

"It's very rude to avoid one's gaze."

 

"I am sorry, sir, I meant no offense" she said, her voice a small terrified squeak.

 

He laughed softly, "What a well trained one you are; twittering your sweet words like a little bird."

 

She said nothing. Silence loomed over them and she was sure he could hear her heart thundering away in her chest. Soon his hand released her and she stepped back. She cradled her wrist to her chest and looked up at him, scared to look away again.

 

"Run, little bird. Run back to your cage." He growled, then turned and walked away into the shadowed depths of the house.

 

Sansa let out a breath she didn't know she was holding and swallowed around the terrified lump in her throat. She gathered her skirts and ran down the corridor, desperate to be back to her family and as far away from that dreadful, horrid man as possible.


	3. Chapter 3

"Arya! Will you get down from there! I am not sitting mending any more of your dresses!"

 

Sansa huffed and folded her arms as she looked up into the tall tree her sister was currently swinging like a monkey from. Her skirts snagged on branches all the way up and from where she was now, one fall would mean a broken limb.

 

"Come and get me then!" the dark haired girl with mud smeared across her cheek shouted down to her gleefully.

 

Sansa sighed and returned to her seat amongst the roots of the tree, sitting on a root, arranging her skirts so they pooled around her delicately and made sure to keep her posture straight and proper. She opened the book in her lap once more and continued reading.

 

The two sisters were in the large gardens that surrounded their house. Mother was having tea inside with their aunt Lysa who had come to visit with her son. Arya and Sansa had opted to spending the morning in the sun while little Robin played with their younger brothers near them. They had both been charged with looking after them but Sansa grumbled to herself when a few leaves floated down landing on her book as Arya scrambled from branch to branch above her. Yet another child Sansa was charged with.

 

A snap of a branch and a loud thud signalled Arya's ungraceful decent to the ground.

 

"Gods, Arya look at you!"

 

The younger Stark daughter looked down at her muddied skirts and back to her sister.

 

"What?"

 

Sansa couldn't fight the smile that slid across her face as she stood to fix the strands of wild hair that had come undone from Arya's bun. "Whoever is mad enough to marry you, Arya – I pity" Arya snorted but said nothing as Sansa licked her handkerchief and wiped the mud smear from her sister's cheek.

 

Arya was quiet for a time while Sansa scrubbed at her cheek.

 

"Are you going to marry Joffrey?"

 

Sansa froze at the sudden question, not expecting it from her sister, then slowly lowered her hands from Arya's face, tucking the hanky into the sleeve of her dress.

 

"What are you asking such a question for?"

 

Arya shrugged, "I was just wondering. He only danced with you the other night and you were a blushing, smiling mess of goo. It was embarrassing."

 

"You were hardly there how would you know?"

 

"I was talking to Gendry!"

 

Sansa stared at her sister, "who on earth is Gendry?"

 

Arya rolled her eyes and plopped down on the ground, picking at a blade of grass and stripping it to pieces in her grubby hands. "He's a servant orphan boy of the Baratheons. Says he's worked for them his entire life, his mother was a scullery maid or something."

 

"Arya you should be talking to the gentlemen your age, mother and father will be seeking you a husband soon. You should dance for once at these balls, you might actually enjoy it," Sansa told her, sitting down gingerly next to her sister.

 

"I don't want to marry, I'll be a spinster and I'll teach all your pretty children to fight with sticks and climb trees and harass you all day and night" she replied, her voice full of a smug tone.

 

Sansa smiled and shook her head. Arya was too headstrong for her own good.

 

They sat in silence for a while; Sansa reading her fairytales and Arya plucking the petals from a daisy.

 

The air was filled with the music of birds and laugher of Bran, Rikkon and Robin as they ran around the garden playing kings and knights.

 

Arya spoke quietly after a while, "I don't like Joffrey very much."

 

Sansa frowned and looked to her sister, but the younger girl kept her eyes on the flower in her fingers, "why not? He is handsome, charming, has great fortune that he will inherit one day. What is there not to like?"

 

"I don't know. I just have a feeling. I don't trust him."

 

Sansa had nothing to say to that for a while. Arya didn't like many things, but that was mostly silly things such as sewing or singing or dancing. Very rarely did she dislike a person.

 

"And that man – that Mr Clegane. What an awful face! I wonder what happened to him."

 

Sansa stiffened remembering the tight grip of his hand on her wrist and the sour smell of wine upon his breath. Sansa had told Arya discreetly about her encounter with the man the night after the ball. Arya had said she didn't expect any other behaviour from such a rough looking man. But Sansa had been shaken and Arya had resorted to insulting the man until Sansa laughed at her silly adjectives.

 

"I don't think many people liked him very much," she said, folding her book over and setting it aside, "he never spoke to anyone, never danced nor even cracked a smile. Just drank all night and followed Joffrey about like a dog."

 

"He looked at you a lot" Arya told her quietly.

 

Sansa's eyes widened. True she noticed Sandor's eyes upon her while she danced with Joffrey. But she had thought that simply a coincidence.

 

"He did? When?"

 

"Why do you care? He was mean to you remember? You don't like him" Arya huffed, throwing a handful of grass away and slouching further down the trunk of the tree.

 

The sound of horses' hoofs stirred the quiet of the morning. The sisters rose and walked to the gate where they were greeted with the sight of Joffrey astride a snow white steed. His hair shone in the sun's rays and his smile was fit to dazzle. He looked every bit a handsome prince and Sansa quickly forgot Arya's words of doubt against him.

 

Slightly behind him riding on a huge black stallion – Sansa's heart jumped slightly to see him – was none other than Mr Clegane.

 

"Gods, speak of the devil and he shall appear" Arya muttered beside Sansa who elbowed her in the ribs discreetly but hard enough to hear a satisfying grunt.

 

"Good morning to you, fair lady," Joffrey called to them as they neared, his golden hair shining in the sunlight, "We though it the perfect day to call upon you" he dismounted gracefully, handing the reigns to a servant who hurried over.

 

He stepped towards Sansa, taking the hand she offered to him and kissing it softly, "a week is much too long to be separated from such a beautiful lady."

 

Sansa smiled but the spell was broken when the huge form of Mr Clegane stepped beside Joffrey.

 

"Miss Stark" he greeted her, nodding gruffly in her general direction, "Miss Ala"

 

"Arya" corrected the younger stark, curtsying stiffly and glaring up at the man.

 

Joffrey chuckled, "shall we take a stroll around the garden then? Fine day." He offered an arm to Sansa who took it gladly and glanced back to see Sandor remain standing where he was, Arya and he seemingly bickering over something. Sansa was surprised to see them talking at all but a small tug from Joffrey soon had her attention fixed back upon him.

Joffrey tucked her hand under his arm as they walked, commenting on the weather, the beauty of her home’s gardens, the ride over here on his magnificent horse – a birthday gift from his uncle Jamie, he informed Sansa proudly. Sansa listened eagerly as they strolled, the gardens a perfect setting for such a romantic morning. Joffrey’s arm was warm and steady, his voice comforting, his presence every bit a joy to Sansa.

"I apologize if my fair lady dislikes the presence of Mr. Clegane here. I'm afraid mother insisted I take him with me."

 

"Not at all, sir," Sansa gushed, savouring how he called her his fair lady.

 

"It is true his manners are ill, but he has served my parents well and is an old friend of theirs because of it. Although I am sure you wonder about his gruesome scars."

 

Sansa noted how his voice seemed to take on an excited edge as he spoke, but she remained silent, nodding in answer and concentrating on listening.

 

"I am sure you have heard already of his reputation? If not this may shock you. The man is quite wild. There have been stories of how he drinks constantly – I myself can testify to that though that knowledge is common. But there are many other sins to add to his name. He is known to whore, many argue he has had every whore in Westeros yet none can bear to look upon his face. He has killed too, yes I see you are shocked but it is true. There is much blood upon his hands. Many believe he has killed whores who look upon his face, cursing them and killing them. "

 

Sansa felt her stomach roll at all she heard. Every account she heard regarding this man seemed to get worse and worse, she couldn't believe it, yet with every word that left Joffrey's mouth she saw truth sparkle in his green eyes and his words indeed seemed to fit the horrid man he called companion. But his tale was not over.

 

"It is rumoured he killed his parents and raped his sister before killing her. And that his elder brother – trying to save his sweet sister fought him, falling him into a fire in doing so and gave him those awful burns. Sandor outraged killed him swiftly and most bloodily. I have heard it said he did so to acquire the lands and fortune, but I can tell you now he never goes home. Not unless it is urgent. No, I know that he did it all out of pure joy. But his crimes could never be proven so he walks free. My family keep him to honour his late father who served my own father well, I believe we seem to gentle the rage in him – he hasn't killed since but he still drinks. I like to think in keeping him as a companion I may set an example for him – perhaps I can help him become better."

 

Sansa felt her head reel and sat quickly on a nearby garden seat.

 

"My lady, oh sweet Miss Stark, I am sorry. I should not have said anything I'm afraid I got carried away" Joffrey implored, leaning down to her.

 

She shook her head, "I apologize, sir, I am well I just feel a little light headed. What an awful story I cannot believe it. How horrid a man! I could never have imagined details such as this-"

 

"-my lady, I ask you not to speak of this to anyone – most of all him. I do not like to think of what it may mean for you."

 

"No, of course not. I would not wish to be anywhere near him least of all confront him for it. You were right to tell me, sir. Now I can see just how horrid he is. How could you not reveal his true nature? Why keep his past secret?"

 

"As I said his crimes could not be proven for him to be condemned. But also, I hope my companionship with him will gentle him. I hope I am doing some good for him and help him move on from the past" Joffrey said, a wistfulness to his voice as he looked out across the garden.

 

Sansa’s heart warmed as she looked up to him, such a contrast he was. Where Clegane was everything black and horrible, Joffrey shone like a beacon of light, embodying such a happy nature, such a good heart.

"You are a good person for it. Better than most - than I."

Joffrey smiled at her and offered his hand once more.

"Perhaps we should return; I fear our absence may disturb your mother. And I must return home, come" he said, pulling her to her feet.

 

She remained silent as they made their way back; Joffrey continued speaking, commenting again on the weather and such. Her mind was a blur with all she had heard. This man's reputation seemed worse than she had heard. How could such a man even be allowed into society? How could a man have treated her so that night of the ball and had nothing to say to her upon their next meeting? Neither an apology nor even a word of acknowledgement? But now she was glad for it. Being anywhere near that man would make her sick now.

 

She remained immersed in her thoughts even as they reached the door to the house where mother and aunt Lysa stood waiting.

 

It was only when she heard the gruff voice of the man storming her thoughts bid her a good day and follow Joffrey to their horses that she was snapped from her thoughts. She watched them ride off, glaring at the huge back of Sandor Clegane, vowing to hate them man forever.


	4. Chapter 4

Sandor huffed to himself as he followed Joffrey through the throng of people crammed into the small ballroom and drawing room of the Poole home. They had been invited here for yet another ball. Sandor was sick to his back teeth of these functions; snobby upper class families parading their daughters to other's pompous sons while their fathers got drunk and their mothers gossiped about the hem of dresses and the stray curl of one's bloody hair.

 

They had arrived, been greeted, Joffrey had bowed here and smiled there and been his usual charming self. So they saw anyway.

 

Now, they made their way through the suffocating crown of people. Joffrey led the way and Sandor followed like the loyal dog he was. He knew what it was Joffrey was seeking – or rather who.

 

A glint of red out of the corner of his eye caught his attention and there he saw Joffrey's prey.

 

She stood with the Jeyne girl – daughter of the man who had thrown tonight's ball – and the Tyrell girl who showed more teats than face. Her red hair was arranged atop her head, a few stray strands falling down to frame her face, a few modest flowers decorating here and there. She had a pretty face, Sandor decided; all high cheekbones and clear, porcelain skin. Her eyes were special; blue like the glistening depths of the sea. And that hair, Sandor had never cared much for a woman’s appearance but he itched to touch that flaming hair, see if it would be as soft as it looked, and smell as sweet as her smile.

 

"Ah, there she is. Mother wants me to dance with her again. Such a dull wench Sansa is. One more dance with her and I'll stab my own eyes out with a fork."

 

Sandor cleared his throat as he glanced at a fork sitting on the table next to him and found himself nearly offering it to the golden haired brat beside him.

 

Joffrey was a little spoiled shit and he pitied the Stark girl for being completely blind to his cruelty. The boy put on a very well crafted mask, Sandor would give him that. But even that mask had cracks; the boy had sick tastes and lost his temper too easily and when he did things never went well.

 

But if the little bird was stupid enough to be charmed by his false words and sickly sweet compliments she was welcome to him. The girl needed a good wakening to the real world and its cruelties. But like many before her – those in families as high as hers and those she kept company with very rarely ever did descend from their golden clouds to the dirty reality of the world around them.

 

Sandor hated them. And he envied them.

 

But still he followed Joffrey to the Stark girl's side.

 

"I would be honoured if my beautiful lady would dance with me." His words were thick and sweet like honey dripping from his mouth. He bowed and kissed her hand and Sandor watched in disgust as she lapped it all up; blushing and smiling and accepting.

 

He led her away and Sandor noted how she turned away from him; shying towards Joffrey as they passed, turning her back on him as discreetly as she could. But he noticed nonetheless.

 

He didn't feel any kind of rejection from her – he knew more or less why she did it, remembering their first encounter when he had gripped her small slender wrist and squeezed as he spat drunken words to her. The fear in her eyes had only spurred him on – making him angrier though he could not say why. It hadn't truly bothered him whenever someone avoided looking upon his scarred face. But when she had kept her eyes lowered and her words short, it had stirred something in him.

 

He snapped out of his brooding thoughts to find the Tyrell girl staring up at him curiously. She opened her mouth to say something to him but he turned and walked away. Conversation was not his skill and it would be the end of the bloody world before anything that girl had to say interested him.

 

Sandor spied the Imp sitting at one of the tables far to the back of the hall. As usual Tyrion was slouched; pissed drunk and avoiding everyone while still remaining present.

 

Sandor joined him at the table, taking the seat opposite and took a mug of wine from a passing servant.

 

Tyrion looked up at the man with a flushed face and glazed eyes.

 

"Ah, it's the loyal Dog."

 

"Enjoying yourself, Dwarf?"

 

Tyrion smiled and closed his eyes momentarily as he swayed in his seat. "Immensely, god knows I live and breathe for these functions."

 

Sandor chuckled and drank his wine. He always enjoyed Tyrion's company – the imp being one of the very few whom he could stand to be around for a prolonged amount of time. They had developed an odd friendship over the years Sandor had been with the Baratheon family.

 

"And why is the Dog without his master? Where is my darling nephew?"

 

"Playing with his new toy" Sandor replied, nodding in the direction of the dance floor.

 

Tyrion shifted in his seat to look at the forms of Sansa and Joffrey as they moved through the dance.

 

Sandor drank deep from his mug of wine as he watched them. She was perfection itself; smiling here, nodding there, blushing prettily and speaking her sweet words. He felt his nose twitch in disgust and he took another long drink of the sour red liquid.

 

"Such a pity," Tyrion spoke after a while, his voice quiet and sombre, "She seems such a lovely girl."

 

Sandor found himself agreeing with the Imp, but he knew his sympathy was weak. The little bird was foolish. She was just like those girls she surrounded herself with; heads filled with handsome princes and sweet promises of love. If she chose to believe Joffrey and all his perfect lies then she was welcome to him. They would well suit each other, he decided; her with her beauty and courtesies to please him - him with his looks and manners. But sooner or later she would find out what he was truly like. She would feel the pain as he took his sick pleasure from her as he was known by few to do. And no one could save the little bird then.

 

But he noticed her eyes; those blue depths that glanced towards him every now and then but quickly looked away when she found him staring. Joffrey was speaking to her still and a small voice in the back of his head told him the words coming out of that brat's mouth were about him.

 

He couldn't care less what the little golden haired twat was saying about him. He had a bad enough reputation as it was and nothing else could stain it further.

 

But still he watched her, frowning when his eyes refused to leave her slender frame as she danced around the room; her fiery red hair looking like fire come alive, the light of the thousands of candles in the room illuminating her pale, perfect skin. He was almost hypnotized by the slight sway of her hips as she moved in the intricate dance, her smile soft and sweet. He felt a strange warmth in his chest and blamed it on the wine he took another swig from.

 

When the dance was done Joffrey led her back to where he sat.

 

"Ah, there you are uncle, I was beginning to miss you" Joffrey called out to Tyrion as they neared, his voice mocking.

 

Tyrion wisely ignored his nephew and straightened in his seat, addressing the little bird. "Good evening, Miss Stark. May I say you look very lovely tonight." His slurred slightly but his words were sincere and his voice gentle.

 

She smiled stiffly at him and bowed her head, "Thank you, sir, you are most kind."

 

Sandor suppressed a smirk when she did not return the compliment to the Imp. Though the latter did not seem to mind as he was now too busy signalling a servant for more wine.

 

"Why do you not dance, Clegane?" Joffrey spoke up suddenly, his eyes sparkling in mischief. "I am sure my lady would not mind stepping upon the floor with you."

 

Sandor _never_ danced, and Joffrey knew that as he smirked at the little bird, presenting the challenge to her. Sandor found himself unable to refuse as he would normally; make a rude remark and leave. But there he stood – silent and waiting, waiting for her to shape her pretty words into an adequate rejection for him.

 

But she said nothing. She looked at Joffrey in alarm then her eyes slowly turned to look at him – he could see it took some effort on her part – but all he saw in her face was a disgust she was struggling to suppress.

 

He frowned, the anger building in him quickly. She blinked rapidly and curtsied, muttering an apology to Joffrey then spun and off she went. Sandor watched her red head as it moved through the crowd and out of the ballroom into the drawing room.

 

"Ha! She is scared of you, Dog! That was good fun, wasn't it?" the idiot beside him cried gleefully.

 

Sandor ignored him, his eyes still glued to where she had disappeared. He tried pushing away the feeling of rejection he was surprised to feel and drank the rest of his wine.


	5. Chapter 5

Sansa knew she was being unusually quiet as she sipped at her tea. She sat with Robb and her mother as Jon and Theon challenged each other to a game of cards. Usually Sansa would be leaning in by Robb's side, whispering advice and cheats to him to tell Jon throughout. Theon would call her a cheat and laugh as she denied his accusations while having Arya mouth his cards to her from behind Theon's back.

 

But today she sat quiet, her eyes staring off into nothing as thoughts that had occupied her head for days on end continued to blaze.

 

Thoughts of a cruel, twisted man who's soul was as black as his stallion. A gruesome face and eyes that she felt on her like a predator.

 

They had been invited to the Tyrell's for tea and cards. Only the Starks and Baratheons had been invited but the room was a buzz with conversation, music, dancing and laughter.

 

Robert's booming laugh stole her attention and she looked to where her father sat with the man, they too playing cards and her father obviously losing as Robert laughed triumphantly while signalling for more wine.

 

Sansa looked around the room and smiled when she saw Margery dancing with Renly. They had been spending a great amount of time together at each party and there was talk of a betrothal promising between them. Sansa was happy for Margery; Renly was a handsome man and very well liked, and he got on very well with her family – especially Loras, she had noticed. They spent just as much time together and Margery did.

 

Arya, she noticed, was missing, but she had seen her wander off outside earlier. The day was warm and sunny so Arya was no doubt halfway up a tree by now or running as fast as she could through the gardens.

 

Cersei sat closely with Jaime speaking with him. At a table near them sat Tyrion and with him – Sansa frowned to see – sat Mr Clegane. They laughed as they talked. Sansa liked Tyrion quite well, though she hadn't spoken to him very often, she had heard plenty from Arya and Jon who both seemed to love him and his sarcastic words and funny manner.

 

She snapped out of her thoughts and started to see Sandor's grey eyes studying her curiously. She turned abruptly back to the game and breathed out slowly, feeling a jolt in her stomach when she still felt those eyes on her.

 

"Sansa, are you alright?" he mother asked gently, touching her shoulder.

 

"Yes, I'm fine" she excused quickly, "I feel a head ache coming on, I must need some fresh air." She stood and made to leave but her mother touched her hand, concerned.

 

"I'm fine, mother. I will go see if I can find Arya." Her mother nodded though still looked worried but Sansa hurried from the room out the doors to the gardens.

 

She breathed deeply and sighed when she emerged into the fresh afternoon air. They gardens of the Tyrell's home were famous in Westeros; filled with flowers and plants that Sansa couldn't even name. All in bright, beautiful colours and filled the air with their sweet perfumes. Sansa often spent time here with Margery and helped her care for the roses – Margery’s favourite flowers.

 

Sansa frowned as she thought back to the Pooles' ball; how Joffrey had offered her Mr Clegane's hand as a dance partner. The horror and fear that had gripped her in that moment was levelled with the anger and disgust she felt when looking upon that scarred face. If she could have she would have ignored him completely but…her hand circled her wrist where all those weeks ago he had gripped her so tightly she had faint bruises the next day.

 

Sansa was sure Joffrey had made the suggestion in another attempt at making Clegane a better person – getting him to interact at these functions instead of brooding and glaring in the corner all night. But she still couldn't shake that look he had in his green eyes, Sansa couldn't name it but it had made her feel uneasy.

 

But what had alarmed Sansa the most was when Clegane made no effort to refuse. She had not seen him dance at any of the parties he had attended with Joffrey. Yet when Joffrey had suggested it – he hadn't accepted…but he hadn't refused either.

 

She shivered as she imagined those hands around her. Big, rough, strong hands of a killer. She shook her head, trying to banish the words Joffrey had spoken to her about the man's past.

 

"Does my lady mind of I join her?"

 

Sansa jumped and spun only to find Joffrey standing smiling at her that secret smile. "I apologize; I didn't mean to startle you." He said, amused by her reaction.

 

"I, I apologize, I was lost in thought."

 

Joffrey nodded and offered his arm to her, "shall we?"

 

Sansa smiled at him, her perfect prince, here to chase all her horrid doubts and thoughts away. She took his arm and let him lead her through the gardens.

 

As always, Sansa let Joffrey speak. He always had so much to tell her, he spoke of his family, of how he would one day inherit all their fortune and own a great land. She smiled, imagining being the lady of such a grand place, having servants, watching her golden haired children run through the gardens, laughing and calling to her and her husband. Would they live in Kingsland Park? That would be nice, she would remain close to her Mother and Father that way. She wondered how her wedding dress should look, which flowers to pick for her bridal bouquet. Joffrey would look handsome in a red jacket, she decided, the lion of his family crest emblazoned on his chest. He would look very well indeed.

 

She didn't even realize they had stopped walking until Joffrey suddenly called out to someone – so lost she was in her fantasies. She felt her heart quicken but resisted the urge to sigh in relief when she saw it was not Mr Clegane he had called to.

 

Instead her eyes found Arya; hair falling out in messy tendrils from where Sansa had secured it in a simple bun atop her head earlier that morning. Her dress which was a soft grey had a hem covered in muck and the fabric ripped here and there where Arya must have stood on it or snagged it on some branches.

 

Beside her, standing with his head bowed to Joffrey stood a tall servant boy. He looked older than Sansa, his skin a sun kissed brown. His hair was thick and black as night, when he glanced up at them she saw brilliant blue eyes. He wore simple servant clothes, slightly stained and she could see the muscles of his arms beneath the fabric. She remembered he was a servant of the Baratheons. He worked in the stables and he often came to functions with the family to tend their horses throughout and have them ready for their departure. Today it seemed was no exception.

 

"Gendry. What have you been told about speaking to people?" Sansa was surprised by the harshness of Joffrey's voice and he unlinked their arms and stormed closer to them.

 

Gendry paled and he instinctively took a step away from Arya.

 

"Apologies, sir. I meant no harm."

 

Joffrey stopped before him and looked up at Gendry with a strange expression.

 

"I don't believe that was the answer to the question I asked."

 

"Joffrey, it's alright, really – Arya is friends with him." Sansa said, feeling uneasy with Joffrey's sudden change of temper.

 

"Yeah, I can talk to him if I want!" Arya butted in – stubborn and ready to argue as usual. Her dislike of Joffrey didn't help either.

 

Joffrey's eyes snapped to her, piercing and angry.

 

"Is that any way to speak to me?" he snapped and Sansa's eyes widened in surprise.

 

"Why should a highborn be interested in speaking to a dirty stable boy anyway?" Joffrey continues, his gaze moving back to Gendry who still stood with his head bent respectfully.

 

"What's that supposed to mean? Just because he isn't highborn like us doesn't mean I can't be friends with him!"

 

Sansa didn't miss the small smile that stole across Gendry's face at Arya's words.

 

Joffrey seemed stunned into silence for a moment. "He's a bastard! You love him, is that it? Oh it is! Would you like to bear his filthy bastard babis?"

 

Sansa was shocked at his crude words, shocked at the sudden change in her always charming prince. But his words had stung something in Arya. And Arya had always been a spirited one, acting before thinking of her consequences. So it was only after her hand connected with Joffrey's cheek did Sansa see a glimmer of regret in her Stark grey eyes.

 

Joffrey clutched his cheek and glared down at Arya, shock etched into his face which quickly changed to rage.

 

"How dare you!" he shouted and lunged for her.

 

"Joffrey! Leave her alone! Joffrey!" Sansa's hands clawed at the back of his coat and Joffrey turned, his hand flashing out and Sansa felt a blinding pain across her left cheek and she stumbled and hit the ground.

 

Sansa could not say what happened for sure, but when she turned, cradling her burning cheek in her hand, Mr Clegane stood with his back to her, in between her and a seething Joffrey.

 

"Your mother wishes to see you, sir" she heard him rasp.

 

"But -"

 

"I believe it's quite urgent" Clegane interrupted, his tone made it clear arguing was not wise.

 

Joffrey was silent for a while, then glaring at Gendry, then Arya, then Sansa. Then he straightened his coat and stalked away into the Tyrell house.

 

"You, boy, go back to the horses. You're a buggering fool for this" he said to Gendry next. Gendry looked at Arya and seemed to want to say something, but instead ducked his head and headed around the other side of the house.

 

Only when he had disappeared from sight did Clegane turn to her.

 

"Are you alright?" his voice was surprisingly soft and Sansa blinked as he knelt down, holding out a hand to her. She took it wordlessly and he pulled her easily to her feet with hands that held her gently.

 

"You're lucky he didn't draw blood. This time at least."

 

Sansa frowned. This man was giving her sympathy by telling her she was lucky?

 

He turned to Arya who stood in shock, "did he hurt you?" she shook her head and moved to Sansa's side.

 

"Come along, I'll escort you back."

 

Sansa wanted to refuse. She wanted to pull Arya away from that horrid man and back to their parents. She wanted to be home and forget this horrid day ever happened.

 

But instead she let Arya tug her along, following Mr Clegane.

 

V

 

Later that night, when the world was asleep, the two Stark daughters huddled together under the covers of Sansa's bed. The room was illuminated by the soft glow of a single candle that Arya had brought with her when she had crept into her older sister's room.

 

The sisters lay facing each other and Arya played with a long, silky strand of auburn hair.

 

"Does your cheek hurt?" Arya asked quietly.

 

Sansa touched cool fingertips gingerly to her cheek. The redness had disappeared by now but when they had re-entered the room her mother and father's alarm at the sight of her slightly swollen, red cheek had alarmed them greatly. Arya had been ready to point blame at Joffrey but Sansa had interrupted, jokingly excusing it as accidentally getting hit by a branch as she played with Arya in the gardens. The rest of the room had swallowed the lie and Mrs Tyrell had given her a cloth damp with cold water to ease the pain. But Sansa felt the eyes of her family on her, they knew when she lied. The skin was still tender and stung when she smiled.

 

"No, not anymore." She whispered.

 

"I hate that stupid Joffrey for what he did."

 

Sansa wanted to defend him - wanted to cling to the belief that her golden haired prince had struck her by accident, that he was very sorry for it and would never do it again.

 

But the feeling of his cold hands as they gripped her arm just as the party ended and the guests made to leave and the hiss of his voice in her ear, threatening her never to speak of what had happened or he would hurt her again burned though her mind.

 

"We should have told father. Or even Robb, he would have sorted that little prick right out."

 

"Arya don't speak like that!" Sansa hissed, trying to be quiet, "and we will not tell anyone, I mean it Arya you must say nothing. It will only get worse if you do. Promise me!"

 

"Alright, alright, I promise!"

 

They were silent for a while. Arya shuffled slightly and started braiding the strand of Sansa's hair.

 

"Gendry said Joffrey likes to hurt people."

 

"What?" Sansa wasn't sure she wanted to hear what Arya was going to say. She wanted to shy away from the truth if that was it.

 

"I talk to him often. He's a good friend and he wouldn't lie to me. He says Joffrey is horrible to the servants. And he likes to beat them. The young girls especially. That's why I don't want you marrying him. I hate him."

 

"Stop it Arya. That can't be true. Despite today Joffrey is good. He is always so charming and kind to me. Gendry may be exaggerating it; servants begrudge their master often for things like that-"

 

"-he wouldn't. Gendry wouldn't lie to me."

 

Sansa frowned and rolled onto her side. Her back now to her sister who let go of her hair.

 

Sansa could feel the truth in her words. But she didn't want to believe it. She couldn't believe it. All the time she had spent with Joffrey he had been charming and kind and gentle. Everything she could ever have wanted.

 

And yet…she remembered that look in his eyes when he told her of Mr Clegane's past. She hadn't understood it now but thinking back it had almost looked like excitement. Perhaps he kept company with him so much because he admired him. And he had changed completely when he saw Gendry. He had lunged at Arya. Even Sansa knew any good man would never dream of hurting a lady – especially a high born. She remembered the dark purple marks on Arya's arm when she had shown Sansa earlier, away from the eyes of their family. Dark marks of Joffrey's fingers where he had grabbed her.

 

Sansa sighed and rolled back over to face her little sister, pulling her close and hugging her small, scrawny form. As tough as Arya was, Sansa still saw her as her little sister. She wanted to protect her and a part of her hated Joffrey for hurting her.

 

"I never thought I would say this, but I hadn't been so happy to see Clegane in all the time we have known him as I was today." Arya said quietly, her face nuzzled into Sansa's shoulder.

 

Sansa stiffened. She couldn't understand that man.

 

"What are you thinking?" Arya whispered when Sansa made no reply.

 

"It just doesn't fit."

 

Arya pulled away to look up at her sister, "what?"

 

"I don't understand how a man like Mr Clegane, with his dreadful past and personality, would help us like he did today."

 

Arya frowned, "I've been thinking, since you told me what Joffrey told you about him. I think he might be lying."

 

"What do you mean?"

 

Arya pulled away and sat up, pulling the covers down. Sansa sat up beside her sister, breathing in the cold wave of air that caressed her face after the warmth under the covers.

 

"Well, if a man has such a terrible past – why on earth would Cersei let him be around his precious children? And surely Robert wouldn't want such a man anywhere near him? And in all the time you have met him, have you ever seen him lose his temper like his reputation tells? Ever seen him speak a harsh word to anyone?"

 

"That night at the Baratheon ball he-"

 

"- helped you find me and let you go. If he was really as bad as Joffrey says he could have done much worse to you."

 

Sansa looked away into the shadows of the room and thought about Arya's words. It was strange that what she said seemed to make more sense than anything else.

 

"Well what about his scars? Surely they are proof?"

 

Arya rolled her eyes, "stop trying to deny it – he could have gotten those scars any other way. I don't think the man is an angel – but I don't think he is as bad as Joffrey says. I think Joffrey was just saying that to amuse himself. That seems more likely."

 

Sansa said nothing, her thoughts racing. She didn't know what to believe anymore. But she knew Joffrey was not the person she thought he was. The dull throb of her cheek was proof of that and the cold grip of his hand as he hissed threats in her ear.

 

Arya sighed and lay back down, closing her eyes and drifting off to sleep.

 

But Sansa remained sitting lost in her thoughts, only succumbing to sleep when her eyes slipped closed heavily and the candle burned out beside her.


	6. Chapter 6

Tonight's ball was at the Westerling's estate.

 

It had been almost a week since the day at the Tyrell's and Sansa was very nervous. But with Arya's hand in her's pulling her onwards she felt a little better.

 

The Westerling family were very close to the Starks after Robb began courting their eldest daughter, Jeyne. It had only been a few weeks, having met at the Baratheon ball, but Sansa had never seen Robb happier. He danced with her at every party since and visited her and her family often. Sansa liked Jeyne very well; she was well educated and always kind to Sansa. And she had a lovely smile and dark eyes.

 

They emerged into the ballroom and Sansa's eyes scanned the room for any sign of Joffrey.

 

She saw Cersei dancing with Jaime on the floor, Tyrion sitting with a man with dirty brown hair drinking heartily. She saw Myrcella dancing with Loras. But _him_. She sighed relieved when her eyes couldn't find him.

 

Then Renly's face was before her, grinning and he pulled her to dance.

 

She went with him, glad of the distraction. This was one of her favourite dances. You would dance with your partner, then the ladies would circle them, then join hands with each other – whoever was beside you at the time – then change partners and begin all over again, going all around the hall until eventually back with your original partner. It was lively and fun and Sansa was soon laughing as she was spun by Renly then joined hands with Jeyne, smiling at her as they spun together, and then moved off to dance next with Loras.

 

By the end of the dance, Sansa breathless and grining, quite forgetting everything that had been plaguing her thoughts for so long.

 

But then a voice spoke up behind her.

 

"May I have the honor, Miss Stark?"

 

She turned to find her mother and aunt Lysa's childhood friend standing before her. She knew him as Mr Baelish. But many called him Littlefinger. She accepted and allowed him to lead her on the dance floor. The dance was a slow march, partners would walk together holding hands, then the ladies would spin under the arm of the man, then join hands and turn, then waltz, and then begin again.

 

"I can't help but notice, Miss Stark, Mr Clegane seems to look at you a great deal."

 

Sansa started at his words and as subtly as she could glanced around the hall until her eyes met with grey ones. She quickly looked away, face burning.

 

"What do you know of him?"

 

"I know that his reputation is not as bad as his face," he chuckled as he spun her under his arm, "many stories surround him but I am one of the few who do not believe such lies. I know the truth."

 

"What is the truth?"

 

"Well, what have you heard?"

 

She glanced over to him as Baelish pulled her close, waltzing the few steps – the huge man sat drinking his wine, speaking to no one unless spoken to, glaring at those around him. Could she trust Baelish with what Joffrey had told her? No. But the need to find out the truth was strong within her.

 

"I was told…that he has killed." Baelish gave no reaction, keeping his face blank, edging her to continue.

 

Sansa took a deep breath, keeping her voice low so only Littlefinger could hear her, "I was told he…that he killed his parents. And r…raped his sister." Sansa swallowed past the sour taste in the back of her throat at saying those words out loud.

 

Still Littlefinger said nothing.

 

"…and that, his brother tried to stop him. Tried to save her by pushing him into a fire – that's how he got his burns. But Clegane was enraged and…killed him too."

 

Petyr nodded and Sansa felt her stomach drop, but he looked at her smiling almost like he pitied her, "what you have heard is not true."

 

Sansa did not know why she felt so relieved.

 

"It was his brother who killed his parents and sister while Sandor tried to stop him. His brother had a reputation for violence. Though, it is true that his brother is the one who gave him his scars. The Baratheons were connected with his family – Clegane's father bred their hunting dogs – so they took him into their care after he was orphaned. He is a loyal man, but full of rage. It is understandable. No, the man is no angel, but he isn't as cruel as many would have you believe."

 

Sansa's head was a rush of information. Littlefinger had a reputation for lies but she felt the truth in his words – besides he would have no gain from lying to her, not about this.

 

"Let me guess, Joffrey told you otherwise?"

 

Sansa's eyes widened and she stiffened, almost stumbling mid step in the dance, but Mr Baelish was there, keeping her right.

 

"Don't worry; I know what he is like. I suspect you do now too?"

 

Sansa could only nod.

 

"It's better that you do. It would be a shame if you had continued courting him."

 

She felt ill. She couldn't hide from it anymore. Joffrey truly was a horrible person. Now she knew it was true. And Clegane was not such an awful man as she had first let herself believe. The dance ended and Baelish smiled before bowing and departing. Sansa’s head was reeling, so many thoughts storming through her. She needed air, needed to get away from all these people surrounding her.

 

It was too cold for her to go outside.

 

She climbed the stairs to the second floor of the house quickly and was relieved to be away from the noise, light and people. She leaned against the wall in the darkened corridor and tried to calm her racing heart, dragging air into her lungs to clear her fogged mind.

 

She couldn't understand how Joffrey was so different to her now. He had been everything good and kind and gentle to her once. But now, he was completely changed. She couldn't believe she had never seen it before.

 

But she hadn't wanted to see it. Even though he kept his façade well, there were still moments he showed what he was truly like. She had been too blind to notice.

 

And Clegane. If all Littlefinger told her really was the truth – she felt very guilty. She had ignored him, refused to speak to him, turned her back on him all because of a lie. What must he think of her? She had treated him ill, been very rude. She shook her head, everything was too confusing now, and she didn't know what to think anymore.

 

"We meet again."

 

She turned at the sound of that slightly slurred voice and her blood ran cold when she saw him there leaning against the wall for support, a mug of wine in one hand. Glazed green eyes glared at her through golden strands of hair.

 

"Joffrey." She stood straight, ready to run if she needed to.

 

He nodded and took another drink from his wine, "my beautiful lady" he sneered, his voice dripping with mockery.

 

"Pray, do not call me that anymore."

 

"Ah, the lady thinks she can run from me?" his hand darted out, gripping her arm and pulling her close her face was almost touching his. She winced when she smelled the sour reek of wine and vomit from him.

 

"All I want from the lady is a kiss."

 

"Let me go! Joffrey, please!" she struggled but he held her fast. The mug clattered to the floor and his arms shoved her hard against the wall. He held her wrists and squeezed so hard she cried out. He pressed his body against hers until there was not a breath between her, the wall and him.

 

His sweaty hand clamped over her mouth.

 

"Keep quiet! If anyone finds out about this I'll kill you" he hissed, tightening his grip on her painfully. "When I let go, you will keep quiet?"

 

Tears blurred her vision and she suppressed a sob as she nodded. After a moment he removed his hand only to clamp it around her throat, the other moved to her breast and she jerked but forced herself to stay quiet, terrified of what he would do. His face moved closer and the smell of him grew stronger. All she could see were those wet, wormy lips moving closer.

 

"Joffrey."

 

He froze and his head whipped around to the owner of the voice. Sansa turned her head slowly and saw her saviour.

 

"Go away, Dog, this doesn't concern you!"

 

"Let her go, boy."

 

His eyes were cold and hard and his tone dared Joffrey to defy him.

 

"You can't order me arou-"

 

"-let her go, or I will cut that pretty face of yours until it looks like mine," his words came out in a hiss, his hand reached into his pocket and drew out a dagger. He looked terrifying standing there; eyes a blaze, his scars exaggerated in the shadows, blade glinting in the low light.

 

Nothing happened for a few moments; Sandor and Joffrey remained glaring into each other's faces.

 

Sansa let out the breath she didn't know she had been holding when she felt Joffrey's hands release her. Glaring at Clegane he turned and staggered off, fear in his eyes should his dear mother be told of his antics.

 

Clegane watched him go until he disappeared down the stairs, only then did he turn back to her.

 

"Are you alright, little bird?"

 

She couldn't move, paralyzed in fear of what had just happened. She was trembling violently and she felt sick.

 

A warm, large hand gently touched her arm. She flinched but didn't pull away.

 

"Come."

 

He swept an arm under her legs and lifted her, her head fell into the crook of his arm and she leaned into the broad chest. His arms were strong but held her gently, like the fragile little bird she was. He carried her into a room close to them and he set her down in a large chair.

 

He knelt on the ground before her, lighting a candle and setting it on the table beside her. The soft glow illuminated them in the dark room.

 

Her breathing was ragged with suppressed sobs, fear still pulsing through her blood but she calmed slowly.

 

"Did he hurt you?"

 

She shook her head.

 

"Did he try to defile you?"

 

She flinched at his words but shook her head.

 

"He…he said he…just wanted…a…kiss" she managed to say, fighting to speak past the lump in her throat and the shuddering of her body. She squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed hard.

 

Sandor reached into his pocket and drew out a handkerchief. It was no silken handkerchief of a gentleman but it was welcome. He ran it across her cheeks gently, wiping the tears away. The rough fabric felt good against her skin that felt numb from her tears. His touch was gentle and tender and over too soon.

 

"He'll be wanting more than kisses from you, little bird." His voice was soft but she heard the strain within. "That boy has foul tastes; delights in paining others and most of all you."

 

"What…what can I do?" she whispered, fear making her grip his arm and lean forwards to look in his eyes.

 

"I can't escape him."

 

"You must try; remove yourself from his presence at all times-"

 

"Wherever we go he is there. Things are expected of me! My family mean for me to marry him. I cannot tell them what he is really like – they would not believe. His family has too great a reputation." She felt the panic inside her grow at her own words.

 

He remained silent, watching her.

 

She ripped her eyes from that face and studied her hands where she found herself clutching his handkerchief.

 

"You should return. Your absence will not go unnoticed."

 

She nodded and let him help her to her feet. She had stopped shaking but the thought of having to go back downstairs and act like nothing was wrong made her sway on the spot.

 

His hands were there, steadying her gently.

 

"Thank you."

 

He looked like she had just slapped him across the face.

 

"For being so kind to me."

 

He looked at her for a long time then nodded.

 

"Come, back to your cage, little bird."


	7. Chapter 7

Sansa's heart thudded in her chest and she felt her hair begin to stick to the back of her neck as a sweat slowly crept upon her. Her hands shook in her lap and her breathing was ragged.

 

Her eyes were wide as they watched Joffrey Baratheon slowly make his way towards her through the swarm of people. His eyes bore into her in a way that made her feel naked and abused before him. His mouth was twisted in that smirk that once made her heart skip for an entirely different reason. Her mouth was dry and she felt that she could retch at any moment. She was frozen in her seat, and still he prowled towards her like the lion he was come to rip more feathers from the little terrified bird.

 

She dropped her gaze and readied herself, willing herself not to cry.

 

She studied the floor before her. She had returned from upstairs after the incident, Sandor Clegane returning her to the bottom of the stairs then leaving her lest anyone should make assumptions about them being upstairs alone.

 

Joffrey had been watching her for the hour or so after that. He had sobered up some – only to the extent that he wasn't staggering about anymore. But he seemed to have grown more confidence in being down here and Clegane now nowhere in sight. Sansa rubbed her clammy palms together, keeping her eyes trained to the floor. What could he do to her here? Surrounded by people? Surely she was safe? Somehow she did not feel it.

 

Her eyes found a pair of boots that stepped into her gaze. She followed the sight of those boots up a pair of long, muscled legs. She frowned realizing those legs were too long and broad for the scrawny lion that she hid from. Her eyes flew up and once more saw the face of her saviour.

“I believe I have claimed this dance, Miss Stark.”

 

By the time Joffrey reached her, he found that with the pass of a body in front of her. The chair that she had occupied only seconds before was empty.

 

Sansa gazed up into those hard grey eyes and found she calmed. His hands were around her; large, strong and warm, one around her back, the other holding her small trembling hand in his own.

 

He moved with a grace surprising to her, stepping with her to the music perfectly. She glanced past his eyes to Joffrey standing beside her chair, green eyes fiery and furious. His hands clenched by his sides at losing his prey to a Hound.

 

She returned her gaze to those grey eyes in that scarred face. She found herself letting her gaze wander over that twisted, burned flesh. She was surprised to find no revulsion, it being replaced with a mild fascination and curiosity.

 

"The little bird has grown a backbone to look upon my face, but not to avoid the lion. Seems you wanted to be his prey." His voice was a low growl so only to reach her ears, but she heard the quiet strain of anger in it. "Mayhaps I should return you to him, since you seemed to have no thought of running."

 

He stepped deliberately and her stomach jolted in fear as she realized he was waltzing her closer to where Joffrey stood.

 

Her hands clutched to him tightly, her nails digging into his hand and shoulder, her eyes widening in fear, her heart thumping in her chest.

 

"Please no. I was too scared I didn't…I couldn't…please…"

 

Almost before the words had left her stuttering mouth he was leading her away from him again. She didn't miss his hands holding her slightly closer, his eyes softening and the corner of his mouth twitching so slightly.

 

"You need to be more careful; fear will get you nowhere but trouble."

 

She said nothing. Instead she focused on how safe she felt in his arms. His steps were smooth and flowing, guiding her here and there, surprisingly light on his feet for such a large man. He held her with a firm gentleness, the hand at her back warm and steady, the fingers of his other hand felt calloused against the delicate skin of her hand but held her in a warm protection.

It was strange to her now, to think that he was the man many feared and even hated. A quick glance around confirmed that many of those around her were shocked to see them together. And dancing a waltz! Traditionally seen as a lover's dance; where those in courtship or marriage danced together. But it was only to save her from Joffrey she told herself. She wished she could tell them too as she felt her parent's worried gaze upon her. They knew this dance had been claimed by Joffrey and now stolen by Sandor.

 

"Are you ashamed to dance with me?" she heard him rasp, his voice bitter.

 

She looked to him, "no, of course not."

 

"Really?" he mocked, "the pretty little bird dancing with a dog. Wouldn't you prefer the arms of that beautiful fop over there?" he jerked his chin in the direction of Loras who stood close with Renly, they were watching them as were almost everyone in the room.

 

Sansa frowned and turned away from them, looking back into those grey eyes that oddly comforted her.

 

"No." she said firmly.

 

He raised his eyebrows at her but his tone still mocked, "Haven't you heard the stories about me, little bird? The Hound who whores and drinks and gambles and has killed? What of my scars? Would you like to know how I got them? Not many know the truth."

 

She couldn't look away. His eyes were not guarded. His voice was full of anger and his hands gripped her not painfully but strong. But she could see the vulnerability in those grey depths. She could hear the desperate plead in his voice. Deep under that angry exterior he wanted her to understand. And she needed more than anything to find out the truth.

 

"My brother shoved my face into the fire when he found me playing with his favourite toy. He grew and killed my sister. He killed our parents for our inheritance and there he stayed. The day he died was the sweetest day of my life."

 

He said it all so fast and without emotion, like he was simply commenting on the weather.

 

"This is the truth?" she asked.

 

"A dog will die for you, but never lie to you" he said then.

 

They had stopped dancing. They stood in the middle of the floor, dancers whirling around them, people gossiping and watching them but Sansa couldn't hear them. Couldn't see them. All she knew was this man before her. This twisted, sad man.

 

Instinct took over and he hissed in surprise when her hand gently found his burned cheek. She stroked there with her fingers, a touch of soft feathers, scared to hurt him more, but she needed to show him.

 

"You won't hurt me" she said almost in a whisper.

 

His eyes widened in surprise and after what seemed like forever she felt him lean into her touch slightly.

 

"No little bird, I won't hurt you" his voice was low, scratchy with emotion.

 

Her words had been so simple, so simple and sweet but she had told him all. She knew he wouldn't hurt her. He was gruff and angry and so honest his words cut like a blade. But he wouldn't hurt her. She could feel it, feel it like she hadn't with Joffrey. She realized that now.

 

She smiled at him and her hand moved from his cheek to his shoulder again, her other slipping back into his hand. They danced as one around the room, nothing existing but the music and them. Her eyes never left his and she felt that she was drowning in them. His smell surrounded her and she felt her body light, as if a great weight was lifted from her shoulders.

 

It ended too soon and he tucked her hand under his arm and delivered her back to her parents. She sighed in relief inwardly to find Joffrey absent. Sandor thanked her for the dance, bowed to her and quickly disappeared into the throng of people.

 

The music played and people danced but it seemed the room was completely silent; all eyes on her.

 

She kept her gaze upon her hand clasped in her lap; she could still feel his burned skin under her fingertips and she smiled softly to herself.

 

V

 

Later that night, when Arya crept into her bed with a single candle, Sansa told her all that had happened at the ball. She told him of all Littlefinger had said, of what Joffrey had tried to do to her, of Mr Clegane saving her, and of all he had told her.

 

The younger girl had listened silent and wide eyed, not speaking for a while after the tale was told.

 

"Well at least now we know the truth. If it is the truth."

 

Sansa sighed and leaned back against the headboard of her bed, "Gods, it must be. Littlefinger told almost the exact same story. And Joffrey…" she shuddered at the thought of him, "…I see him now for who he really is and I wouldn't believe anything he says."

 

"So what now? You must tell father, they think you are still to marry him."

 

"I can't, Joffrey comes from a family much wealthier than us. They wouldn't believe such a highborn son would do any of the things I say he has."

 

"Mother and father would believe you!"

 

"But, Arya, think of it, if I tell them they will bring it before Mr Baratheon and his wife, and it would be the same outcome. They could break off any thought of marriage but that would not stop Joffrey."

 

Arya was silent after that.

 

"What about Clegane?"

 

Sansa looked to her sister, confused, "what about him?"

 

"Think about all the times he has stepped in to help you – at the Baratheon ball, at the Tyrells and then twice tonight! And he had told you his past, something those closest to him don't even know fully. Why?"

 

Sansa thought about when they danced together, he had spoken to her like an equal. His words were gruff but she knew it was his way. She frowned, remembering how safe she had felt with him. The man just over a week ago she had thought to be the worst person imaginable. But now, now things were different.

 

"I think he really is a nice person."

 

"He always helps you. And at the parties and whatever else he always watches you."

 

Sansa was surprised at her sister's words, but she also felt…happy. It was a strange feeling of happiness that he watched her. She shook her head wondering where all these thoughts were coming from.

 

"I can't talk about this anymore. My mind is too full of everything that has happened."

 

Arya laughed at her sister, "yes, let's sleep. God knows too much has happened these past few weeks."

 

Sansa found sleep quickly, snuggled back to back with Arya in the warm bed. And her dreams were calm and untroubled, dreaming of grey eyes.


	8. Chapter 8

The announcement of Renly and Margery's engagement was not a surprise to anyone. Just three days after the Westerlings' ball – where he had apparently proposed to her in the gardens – the invitations to a ball at the Baratheon manner in celebration of the match were received.

 

The ball was in four days, Sansa convinced Robb, Jon and Arya to walk to the town for material and ribbons for a new dress to wear. Both her brothers had accepted happily, wanting to go into town to call upon Theon, but Arya had taken some bribing. She hated shopping and came up with a million excuses before eventually giving in to Sansa's persistent begging.

 

The walk into Wintertown was long, but pleasant, the Stark children and Jon laughing and joking all the while admiring the landscape of their home. They passed through fields of flowers, a forest with red leaved trees and the river that looped around and through the land. They crossed the bridge of the river and Sansa leaned over the edge, looking down at the water and laughing when she saw her reflection smiling back in the water.

 

Jon and Arya raced each other to the town once it was in sight then stood on the borders hollering to Sansa and Robb as they strolled leisurely, arm in arm towards them.

 

When they reached the town, Robb and Jon took off after spotting Theon at the fisherman's shop. Sansa dragged Arya into the material shop promising her a dress she proclaimed she didn't want but picked out a fabric for anyway.

 

She chose a simple grey material with a pattern of silver dots. Sansa chose a lovely pale pink fabric with gold leaves so small they could only be noticed close. She chose a white ribbon for herself and a red for Arya.

 

When they left the shop Robb and Jon were still with Theon.

 

"Ah, Miss Stark, Miss Arya, how pleasant meeting you both here!"

 

Sansa turned to the owner of the voice. Tyrion Lannister sat upon a brown mare smiling down at them. A saddle had been fashioned so he could still ride with his legs being as short as they were. She remembered when she had first saw it after Robert, Jaime and he had visited their house after the Baratheon ball to go shooting with father and Arya had rudely asked him about it. But the dwarf had laughed and seemed more than happy to explain the saddle – his own invention to them. 'Wear your weakness as armor and no one can hurt you' she remembered he had said.

 

Sansa must learn to follow his lesson.

 

But her eyes were drawn to the figure sitting astride the huge black stallion next to him.

 

Sandor Clegane's eyes connected with her and he gave her a small nod of his head, his cheek twitching into what she had recognized as a small smile.

 

Robb and Jon re-joined them then, shouting out greetings to the Imp, nodding curtly to Clegane and helping Tyrion dismount. Clegane dismounted too and the horses were tied to a station as they accompanied the Starks on their walk through Wintertown.

 

Tyrion walked with Robb, Arya and Jon following closely behind and Sansa found herself falling into step with Mr Clegane. Her stomach jolted and her nerves prickled through the palms of her hands as they walked together, remembering suddenly the feeling of his warm hands holding her as they had waltzed at the Westerling ball. She searched for something to say, hoping to strike up a conversation but finding nothing that she thought would interest him.

 

"What brings you to town?"

 

He glanced down at her, "no need to try and start a conversation with me, little bird. I'll be happy with your silence, no need to exert yourself."

 

Sansa wanted to tell him she liked conversing with him – but this was their first proper opportunity at a conversation yet. But what could he talk about? She knew that what he had told her about himself while they danced at the Westerlings' was most likely all he wished to share. His past was a sad story and she didn't want to force him any further into it.

 

"Arya and I are here for material for the engagement ball. I'm going to make us both some dresses."

 

Mr Clegane frowned at her, but he didn't tell her to stop. She smiled at this and continued.

 

"I'm very happy for Margery. I have known her since we were children…"

 

She told him about all the times she had spent with Margery as a child. She told him about her first ball. She told him about her childhood in Winterfell. She told him about the songs she loved to sing, the stories she loved to read, and the dresses she had made that she was most proud of. She told him about her favourite flower (winter rose), colour (blue), food (lemon cakes), least favourite food (mushrooms). She told him about her favourite walk through the red leaved trees that surrounded the Stark estate. She told him everything about herself she could think of. He remained silent all the while, but when she glanced up to his face, his eyes studied the road ahead as they walked but his mouth twitched in a smile when she told him how Jon and Arya had played a prank on her when they were younger by putting a frog they had caught in the garden in her bonnet causing her to scream and hurl the hat – frog and all at her mother who looked at her most alarmed as she ran from the room screaming bloody murder at her sister and cousin. He listened to her intently and she was glad for it.

 

"Gods, Sansa give Glegane a break!" Arya interrupted her, stopping and turning from the Imp and Jon to grin at her.

 

"Upon my word, Miss Stark, even I can't get Clegane here to listen to me that long," Tyrion said as he too turned to them, "I must congratulate you."

 

Sansa blushed but Mr Clegane was smiling down at the Imp, "believe me, Dwarf, nothing you say is even half as interesting."

 

"So from now on I will tell you about my favourite dress and sing you my best song?"

 

Sansa laughed at the thought and found Clegane smiling at her, "aye," he said, eyes shifting back to Tyrion, "mayhaps you should, then we will hear the little bird laugh again."

 

Sansa blushed but a smile was spread across her face she couldn't banish. It had been a long time since she had felt so…comfortable.

 

Tyrion smiled up at her. "Well, we best be going," he said, as they walked back to the horses, "got dresses to sew and songs to sing!" He was lifted into his saddle by Clegane who grunted at him when the Lannister cooed at him, pretending to be a lady gushing at how strong he was.

 

Sansa laughed with Arya and they all waved them goodbye as they rode off. Tyrion grinned and waved back happily. And Mr Clegane, he nodded to them but his mouth was pulled up at one end in a smile, Sansa saw.

 

"We all ready to return? Got everything?" Robb asked.

 

Sansa grinned up at her brother, nodding and they all set off back towards home.


	9. Chapter 9

Margery looked – if possible – more radiant than ever. She wore a dress of deep emerald green, embroidered with rich, golden thread and jewels. She had yellow roses in her hair and a necklace of gold roses around her slender neck.

 

She stood beside her husband-to-be, greeting guests as they entered the Baratheon estate. Sansa flew to her friend, embracing her and congratulating her.

 

"I am so happy for you, Margery. Tell me you will be staying her in Kingsland Park where I can visit you often."

 

"Oh, no we will stay in Renly's house in Highgarden," she told her, smelling of roses and glowing like the sun, "thank the gods it isn't too far away – you can visit me often and you must come stay with us."

 

"Of course I will," Sansa promised, kissing her dear friend's cheek.

 

She moved to Renly who embraced her like he would a sister, "congratulations!" she said to him also, pulling away to smile up at him.

 

"Thank you, Miss Stark, I promise I will treat her well, treasure her like the precious rose she is" he told her, beaming at Margery.

 

Sansa was tugged away then by Arya, "if I stay there a second longer I'll vomit all over his precious rose" she muttered.

 

"Hush Arya, they're happy and have every right to be" Sansa scolded her sister as they moved into the ballroom.

 

"Yes, well they could turn it down a little." Her sister replied, standing on her tiptoes to look about the room.

 

"Who are you looking for?" Sansa asked, following her sister's gaze through the throng of bodies.

 

"No one" Arya replied, using Sansa's shoulder for balance as she jumped up and down to get a better look over all the heads.

 

"It better not be Gendry," Sansa warned her quietly.

 

Arya returned to ground level, "heavens no!" she exclaimed, looking up at her sister, "I'm not going near him while Joffrey is around, I am not going through that again, no thank you."

 

"Then who are you looking for?"

 

"Aha! Found him!"

 

Sansa followed her gaze but saw no one specific, "found wh-" Arya's hand pushed her hard forwards and she stumbled through the shoulders of two guests, smacking right into a body as they walked by. She fell backwards but a pair of hands gripped her by her upper arms, catching her.

 

"Oh I am so sorry, please forgi-" Sansa stared into a pair of grey eyes in a face that held a great deal of amusement.

 

"Watch your step, little bird" Mr. Clegane rasped at her, his smile widening when she turned crimson red.

 

His hands steadied her on her feet and she brushed her dress nervously, "good evening, Mr Clegane. I apologize, I didn't see you."

 

"Of course not," he was still smiling at her.

 

She glowered up at his smug face and was ready to walk off when Arya re-appeared beside her.

 

"Gods, Sansa you really should watch your step! Poor Mr Clegane here could have crushed you!"

 

Mr. Clegane rolled his eyes at the younger Stark girl.

 

"Better watch your step, Miss Arya," the younger girl narrowed her eyes at being addressed so formally, "might be you who goes stumbling next time."

 

Arya was about to retort when Jon appeared beside her grinning and pulling her towards the dance floor, Robb behind him who offered his hand to Sansa.

 

"Excuse me," she muttered to Mr. Clegane who bowed, still smiling and followed Robb to the floor.

 

It was another dance of changing partners. The couples would face each other, hands joined, moving close then stepping back, repeating then the girl would spin under the man's hand. They would then waltz for four three-steps then turn and change partners – again continuing around the hall until joining again.

 

She danced with Robb, and then Loras was her next partner. Then Jaime Lannister, then her father who smiled at her and kissed her cheek just before delivering her to her next partner who was Margery's father, then it was Theon, then Jeyne's father, then Sansa froze as Joffrey was the next to take her hand.

 

"My sweet lady" he greeted her, pulling her almost violently against him and dancing with her.

 

His fingers gripped her hard and his eyes wandered all over her body, especially lingering at the neckline of her dress. She wanted to struggle free from him, strike that awful smirk off his wormy lips and run as far away as possible, but he had her where he wanted her. She was surrounded by people and there was no hope of escape without causing a scene.

 

"Has my lady missed my company of late?" he asked, his voice mocking.

 

Sansa made no reply which seemed to anger him for his grip tightened and she had to fight not to cry out, keeping her composure as if nothing were amiss.

 

"You know of my family's wealth – of our influence. If I wish to marry you it will be done, so there is no point in running from me. I will have you, you can be certain of that, my lady" he hissed in her ear, then let her go, moving to his next partner. Sansa found herself face to face once more with her brother. His wide grin slackened as he looked upon her face and she quickly smiled at him.

 

"I'm dizzy, I'll go for some fresh air" she told him, turning to leave.

 

"I'll come with you-"

 

"- no, I would rather be alone," she lied, “please, I am well, I just need a breath of fresh air,” she walked away before he could argue further.

 

She pushed through the suffocating mass of bodies until she was in the main entrance hall. She walked fast and only stopped when she was outside in the autumn air.

 

She hugged herself as she stood in the cold air, dragging in long breaths and choking back her sobs. The air was icy but clean. Winter is coming she thought to herself.

 

"Are you alright?" she jumped at the voice but her shoulders sagged in relief when she saw Mr. Clegane standing beside her.

 

She looked up into his face, tears rolling hot down her frozen cheeks, "you see? I can't escape from him." Her voice was only a whisper.

 

He said nothing, only unclasped the fine, black jacket he wore and draped it over her shoulders. It was warm from him and she pulled it close around her. He wore a tunic, waistcoat and neck cloth and seemed unaffected by the cold air. But he led her back inside, leading her to sit on one of the seats in the hall. She sat and stared at the floor, wiping away the tears as they blurred her vision.

 

"You won't be free from him until you marry." His voice was so soft and quiet, she thought she imagined he spoke.

 

She looked up at him, he towered over her and she had to crane her neck. But he moved and sat beside her – not close enough to look intimate but close so she could feel his heat.

 

"If that is the case I am doomed. Everyone thinks I have been courting Joffrey and even if I courted someone else, it would take too long – there is no knowing what he would do."

 

The man beside her was quiet but his breathing was quicker than usual. When he eventually spoke, his voice was so quiet she wasn't sure what he had said.

 

"What did you say?"

 

He sighed, obviously irritated – as if the words he were trying to speak were difficult, "I said – you could marry me."

 

She stared at him. For a long time it was all she could do. The shock had blanked her mind and so she simply stared.

 

"Christ, little bird. Look, I may not be a pretty prince from one of your songs, but I could keep you safe. I would give you a good life; Clegane House is far away but I have my coach and enough money to keep you happy. I would protect you and if he or anyone tried to hurt you, I'll kill them." He spoke fast now, his voice louder but only so she could hear.

 

"Why would you do this for me?" she asked him, turning in her seat to face him. His scarred mouth twitched under her gaze but he remained silent, his eyes intense on her. She saw something in his face, like a flickering shadow. He took a deep breath and she thought his words were being chosen carefully.

 

"You remind me of her, my sister; only that I couldn't protect her. But I can protect you. You need only say the word. If you say yes it will be done, if no I will remove myself from you and you will be free to do what you chose – you can court all the pretty princes you want." He rasped quickly. She saw a twinge of annoyance in his face like he hadn't said all he wanted to or in the right way. But she understood him well enough.

He sighed and leaned towards her, his hand oved as if to take her’s but then remained still. When he spoke, his voice was quiet and as soft as could be, “it would be a marriage only in name, we would both continue on as before – save for your name, nothing would change, but you would have my protection.”

 

But how could she ask him this sacrifice? He would be giving up everything for her. And what would she lose? Her reputation? It seemed a fickle thing. And when she considered a marriage to this man that she had come to regard as almost a friend, the though did in no way repulse her.

“Do you trust me?”

His question surprised her but her answer came instantly, “yes, of course I do.”

He looked surprised, a shadow of some emotion crossing his face for a moment before it was gone. His cheek twitched and he let out the breath he had been holding.

 

"Then think fast, little bird."

 

She looked up in those honest eyes.

 

"Yes."

 

V


	10. Chapter 10

"Now?!"

 

"Yes, now he rasped, getting to his feet and pulling her with him, "The sooner the better."

 

"But it isn't possible! We would need a priest, a witness – I need a dress, what about my parents!? My father would need to give his blessing I-"

 

"We have no time for any of that, but if you ask the right people and have enough coin, it is possible. We will steal away now, be married within the hour and you will be free."

 

She paused, "An elopement?"

 

"It is your only choice."

 

Sansa's face fell and she stared at the ground helplessly. A marriage to this man was one thing – but an elopement? That sort of thing was heavily frowned upon and would bring her family great shame, her reputation would be ruined – she could jeopardize her brother's reputations, Arya's already dwindling one…she thought of Robb and how happy he seemed with Jeyne. Would she still have him after hearing of his younger sister's elopement?

 

She should walk away from Clegane. She should give him back his jacket, thank him for his generous offer and walk back to her family. But Joffrey's words swam through her mind; _"If I wish to marry you it will be done, so there is no point in running from me. I will have you, you can be certain of that, my lady"_

 

She looked up at the man towering above her. The man who had shown her friendship and had been the only one to stand between her and Joffrey when he hurt her. Each time he had saved her and now he was willing to sacrifice so much for her. This man was honest where Joffrey had told her horrid lies. He had been gentle when Joffrey's hands had gripped her until she bruised. He had made her laugh and listened to her speak while Joffrey had filled her head with dark thoughts, and spoke over her.

 

"Very well, an elopement it is."

 

V

 

Clegane had summoned his carriage and Sansa had hid within the hallway of the house while Gendry and the men had readied it. They had to keep this entire thing secret for as long as possible lest anyone should try to stop them. When it was done she hurried, covered by his jacket into the carriage and they had set off. She didn't ask where they were going, it hadn't occurred to her. The entire time her eyes were on the racing ground beyond the window, her thoughts a blur with everything that had happened. And everything that was going to happen.

 

Within half an hour or so – Sansa could not say for certain – they pulled into the drive of a manor; large but simple, surrounded by trees it was easy to miss and Sansa wondered if she had ever seen this place before. Her vision was limited in the darkness of the late hour and only a few windows on the first floor of the house were full of light.

 

"Where is this place?" she asked when they stopped before the doors to the house.

 

Sandor opened the carriage door and turned to help her out. She took his hand and pulled her skirts up with the other so she wouldn't trip, "Casterlyrock Manor" Sandor told her, "Tyrion Lannister's home."

 

Sansa looked at him surprised. She had always assumed Tyrion had stayed with Jaime and Cersei at the Baratheon's house.

 

Sansa noticed her confused look, "Tyrion doesn't get along very well with Cersei – Jaime's fine but Cersei holds the grudges of her father against him – but that's another story for another time," he explained as they hurried through the heavy doors into a grand hallway that was larger than the kitchen and dining room put together in Winterfell Estate.

 

"Ah, Miss Stark, I must say I am surprised you agreed to this," a familiar voice greeted her and she turned to see Tyrion himself stroll out from a room to their left.

 

"Tyrion?"

 

The dwarf smiled and bowed to her, "you didn't think this entire thing was all Clegane's idea did you? The man has less brains than he does looks."

 

"Watch it, Imp" Sandor growled beside her.

 

Tyrion simply smiled up at him, "oh come now, Clegane, you know I jest – you have the face of Apollo himself."

 

Sandor rolled his eyes.

 

"What do you mean, that this was all your idea?" Sansa asked, dread creeping on her.

 

Tyrion smiled at her in an almost sympathetic way, reaching forwards to take her hand and patting it lightly, "Clegane here came to me in such a state after the Westerling ball, telling me all about dear Joffrey and his charming manners. I like you, Sansa; you seem like a smart and gentle soul, so when our Dog here came to me demanding we help you I couldn't resist. I proposed the idea to him and though he had his doubts – rightly so for I never dreamed you would agree to any of this! – and he agreed. We wish to help you, my dear" his voice was soft and his words sincere.

 

"Why would you work against the wishes of Joffrey? He is your nephew."

 

"And doesn't that say a lot about him? I know his tastes – we all do. And I have a soft spot for helpless souls and broken things."

 

She looked into his mismatched eyes. She had come this far already, if his words were true or false it made no difference – there was no possible gain for him from this so Sansa trusted him. He too had been a friend to her before.

But still, Clegane would be giving up so much for her in doing this, she could not understand why he should agree to this – what would he possibly gain from this? She looked to him, up into those grey eyes, seeing a shadow of anxiety in their depths. He was a stranger to him, they had spoken on a few occasions, danced together, she had told him about her life but still he was a stranger to her. This was madness.

Yet every fibre in her body told her to trust this man. Every instinct told her he would not hurt her, that he was true and would keep her safe.

 

"Very well," she said, those grey depths softening in relief, "I am ready."

 

He nodded then turned to Tyrion, "everything prepared?"

 

Tyrion grinned and spun, "follow me," he sang and led them into the room from whence he had come.

 

The room was a study, larger than any Sansa had seen – every wall was a bookcase stacked with more books than Sansa had seen in all her life. A large desk sat in the middle of the floor, a fat armchair behind it and papers littering the surface, falling to the floor. Apart from that there was only a large fireplace with a roaring fire in it's hearths at the opposite side of the room where an elderly man stood clutching a book.

 

As they drew nearer Sansa saw his priest's collar and the book he held to his chest was a bible.

 

"Everything set, Father Pycell?" Tyrion asked as they approached, Sansa and Sandor standing beside each other in front of him.

 

The elderly man nodded vigorously then seemed to remember her had a voice and croaked out, "yes, master Tyrion, I see the bride and groom are here, and you shall be the witness I presume?"

 

Tyrion nodded, grinning and standing beside the old man, "who better to be dear Clegane's best man?"

 

Sandor growled deep in his throat making Sansa smile.

 

Pycell nodded violently again then opened the bible, leafing through the pages with thin, wrinkled hands, "We may begin."

 

The sermon was short, they said their vows and exchanged second hand rings Tyrion supplied and with a soft press of scarred lips to her cheek and their signatures on a roll of paper, it was done – she was now Sansa Clegane.


	11. Chapter 11

After the ceremony, Sansa was led to a bedchamber by one of Tyrion's servant to rest, lighting a fire and asking if there was anything she required before leaving. She was glad for it; the night had been long and full of events. All she wanted to do was climb under the covers and sleep for the rest of her life.

 

But that proved impossible when after an hour or so a sharp knock at the door interrupted her while she washed her face. She dried herself quickly then called for whoever it was to enter.

 

Mr Clegane – her husband - entered, shutting the door behind him and looked at her with worry.

 

"What is it?"

 

"Joffrey will be here soon with your father, your absence will be known by now, Tyrion and my own too. It won't take them long to join the dots. He will try to make it like I forced you into this. We must convince them otherwise. We must ensure there is no loophole for him to find."

 

Panic gripped her and she had to take deep breaths to calm herself, "what will we do?"

 

''We lie," he said simply, moving over to her.

 

His hands pulled out the pins from her hair and his fingers were running through her silken strands as they fell around her shoulders, ruffling them into a messy state.

 

Sansa forced herself to ignore the shivers that ran through her at his touch, "what are you doing?"

 

"We must make it look as if we have lain together" he rasped, undressing to his flannel shirt and trousers, "they cannot do anything if they believe the marriage was consummated."

 

"We - oh!" Sansa blushed at the prospect of appearing before her father and him seeing her in such a way – thinking such things. It was so improper and embarrassing. But then Joffrey's face swam into her mind, that horrid smirk and those hands lashing out to her.

 

She made quick work of her dress, pulling the laces and slipping it down her body, her petticoat and stays following. She covered herself with her hands as she stood in just her shift. Sandor looked at her then turned to a wardrobe beside the washbasin and pulled out a dressing robe.

 

"Here, girl," he rasped, draping it around her shoulders.

 

She pulled the black velvet around her, slipping her arms into the sleeves. It was heavy and cold but it smelled of him. She wondered why, looking up at him questioningly.

 

"It's mine," he explained, moving to ruffle the sheets of the bed, "this is my room – I stay with Tyrion mostly. One can only suffer the Baratheons for so long."

 

She pulled it tight around her, her face burning red when he straightened from messing the bed and undid the top few laces of his shirt, untucking it from his trousers. He put his jacket on and looked every bit like he had just been roused from abed. He straightened and looked at her, assessing her appearance then nodding, satisfied.

 

"I will receive them, then I will send a servant to bring you down – you must keep your lies, little bird, all depends on it" he rasped, heading towards the door. Only when he was halfway out did he turn to her, his eyes looked her over once more and she noticed his face change, though she couldn't' saw what it held. But his eyes softened as they found her face.

 

"Don't be afraid, I’ll see Joffrey in hell before I let him touch you again."

 

She nodded to him and he left without another word.

 

She sat upon the edge of the bed timidly and breathed deeply past the fluttering in her stomach.

 

But when she pulled the hems of the sleeves down past her hands and breathed in the smell of him she found comfort.


	12. Chapter 12

Sandor was fighting very hard to hide the smile that was determined to slip across his lips when hee saw Joffrey pacing before the fire, fists and jaw clenched in anger at losing his play thing.

 

He had burst in to the room where Tyrion had been sitting with Father Pycell, demanding that they return Sansa – Sandor had been listening from the shadowed first floor landing, under the guise that he was making love to his beloved bride.

 

Sandor heard Mr. Stark's voice then, speaking quiet and calm so Sandor couldn't make out what he was saying. Tyrion had sent for a servant not long after to fetch Mr. Clegane from his bridal chamber.

 

Now Sandor stood watching Joffrey prowl about and Mr. Stark sit in a chair silently digesting the tale, brow furrowed and eyes far away.

 

They had played their parts well; Tyrion excusing his part in it as being the sympathetic soft heart, helping the two young lovers in need when they found an elopement their only way to continue their love. Oh how good an actor he was.

 

Sandor had explained it all calmly; that he had fallen in love with the little bird and she with him, that they knew a marriage between them would never be approved so they had eloped, seeking out the help of Sandor's dear friend. Pycell had been asleep most of the time, prodded awake by Tyrion to mumble confirmation that they had indeed married and thrusted the marriage certificate into Stark's hand before falling back into a slumber.

 

Joffrey was seething and he pointed a finger accusingly at Sandor, "You abducted her! Everyone knows of your reputation! We will annul this sickening thing. It will be as if you never married, I will marry her and be done with you. You forced her into this I know it -"

 

"- I forced her to do nothing. She came of her own will. Besides the marriage has been consummated, you will not take her," he growled back.

 

Stark's gaze turned to Sandor. He had said nothing all the while Joffrey raged and they told their tale. He looked now to Sandor with solemn grey eyes, the certificate bearing his beloved daughter's signature still in his hands. His eyes bore into Sandor's a long time. Just as he began to worry the man was searching his soul, stripping away the lies to find the truth - he dropped his gaze.

 

"Let my daughter come down here. I want to hear it from her. I won't believe anything until I speak to her."

 

The room was silent for a while save for Pycell's light snoring and Joffrey's heavy breathing. Then Tyrion summoned a servant to fetch the little bird and some strong whiskey.

 

It seemed an age that they all were there in silence before the soft sound of bare feet padding on marble floor reached him.

 

"Sandor?"

 

All eyes went to the door through which slipped the little bird.

 

Sandor's breath caught in his throat at the sight of her.

 

Her auburn hair glowed red of blood in the light of the fire, tumbling around her shoulders messy and wild, sweeping sensually down to her waist. Her cheeks held a rosy glow and her lips red and plump. Her hands held close his dressing gown that swamped her small body over her white shift. She looked every bit a woman in the glow of love, a woman that had just been held and kissed and brought to ecstasy by one who loved her. Sandor stared at her as if seeing her for the first time, wondering that this creature could be his wife. She was clever, that little bird.

 

Her eyes sparkled as she turned from the sight of her father and moved to Sandor's side.

 

His arm automatically went to her, surprising himself who had always flinched from the touches of others. But now she stood, tucked under his arm, cuddled into his side like the loving wife she was pretending to be.

 

"Sansa…so it is true."

 

He felt her stiffen beside him at her father's soft voice. His fingers moved of their own accord and rubbed small circles where they rested on her arm.

 

He felt her relax slightly but her fingers clung to him tighter, "yes, father. I have married him."

 

"He forced her to it!" Joffrey wailed like a child robbed of his favourite play thing.

 

Sandor's eyes narrowed and would it not be for the little bird pressing a hand to his he would have punched that stupid golden haired twat right in the face.

 

"Sansa."

 

Her father reached for her and Sansa moved forwards, letting him take her hands in his.

 

"I love him, father. I married him in secret for I knew you and mother could never approve. I know he has a reputation, but if you knew him as I do – he is the best man there is. I am sorry, I never wanted to hurt you or mother or our family."

“She lies!” Joffrey seethed, pacing again, “there has been insufficient time for them to have been wedded and bedded! The girl is terrified out of her wits she knows not what she says – see how he controls her!”

“I would thank you to remain silent, Mr Baratheon,” Stark’s voice was firm, “I will hear it from my own daughter.”

Joffrey’s face turned – if possible – an even darker shade of red but he remained quiet.

Mr Stark turned back to his daughter, looking her in the eyes, still holding her small hands in his. Sandor felt a moment of anxiety creep upon him, worried the little bird would not allow herself to lie to him, her own father.

He watched her straighten, shoulders squaring and chin raised, when she spoke, her voice held not a tremble, “he is my husband in truth; we are married and have lain together, as husband and wife do. It can not be undone, for all you both would wish it.”

 

Sandor could think of nothing to say. Until now he had concentrated upon the lie, keeping it believable. But there she stood, speaking her words of silk and love until even he could have believed her.

 

And her father did. His eyes sparkled and his brow creased but he nodded.

 

"I do not agree with this match. I do not agree with the secrecy – we are your family, Sansa, we would listen to you no matter what. I am hurt by all this. But I know I can not persuade you otherwise, and obviously an annulment is out of the question. Your mother will take time to be comfortable with all this. But I see there is nothing I can do."

 

Sandor saw her nod and her arm reached out to hug her father. The man's eyes looked to Sandor's over her head as he held his daughter close. He said nothing but those grey depths held promise – promise that should any harm come to the little bird…Sandor didn't want to imagine what would happen to him. He nodded in reply and breathed deeply as Sansa's warm body returned to his side, smelling sweet with something he couldn't' place.

 

"We will take our leave, come, Joffrey" Ned Stark left the room quickly but Joffrey remained staring at them, eyes full of fire and promise.

 

Only when their carriage disappeared from sight through the window did the little bird's mask crack. His hands fisted as he watched her weep, but she stayed quiet. Her tears falling silent and thick but he didn't comfort her.

 

With the first tear the spell was broken and he remembered.

 

V

 

She left when her tears were spent. Whispering an apology but accepting his handkerchief, dabbing her face delicately then smiling softly when he told her to keep it. He knew she would cry herself to sleep.

 

He gave her his chambers for the night, keeping to his promise. He sat alone with a glass of strong wine – Tyrion retiring after Pycell left. He didn't sleep very well that night, drinking deep into his wine until the room spun in the dark and his demons came back to him. But he smiled to himself when the thought came to him of that sweet smell of her that lingered.

 

Lemons. She smelled of lemons.


	13. Chapter 13

They broke their fast together the next morning, sitting across from each other at the large table. Tyrion chattered happily, teasing Sandor and winking at Sansa who smiled in return.

 

She hadn't slept very well that night. Something about being in Mr. Clegane's room, in his bed had unnerved her, butterflies were in her stomach and her head swam with the smell of him that lingered on the bed sheets and his dressing gown that she had snuggled in.

 

But what constantly plagued her mind, snapping her back into consciousness when her eyes drooped for some well wanted sleep, was the look on her father's face. He had looked at her with such sadness and betrayal. Sansa had always been his treasure, the one to comfort him. She was his little princess and he never, not in his wildest dreams thought she would do something like this to him. But she had, and the guilt weighed her down.

 

All her life, if ever she was worried about something she could go to her parents and tell them. But Joffrey had her in checkmate – no matter how she tried she knew she couldn't find a way out. The boy held a clever façade. His anger had shown last night but she knew her father would see it as grief at losing his chance to marry her out of love.

 

"…and you will be able to leave for Clegane House by tomorrow I should say."

 

She was snapped back into the present at Tyrion's words.

 

"We will leave so soon?" she asked, looking to her husband – would she ever get used to calling him that?

 

"The sooner the better," he replied calmly.

 

She stared down at her plate full of food she had suddenly lost an appetite for.

 

"It is better this way. It would be strange for us to stay here rather than my home. And it will be best for your family to have time to come to terms with everything and the gossip to die down. When they have accepted this you may visit them as often as you want. You can write them until that time."

 

She nodded.

 

I'll begin preparations immediately," Tyrion said, pushing himself away from the table and hopping out of the chair, "but today, my dear Sansa, you will have a whole new wardrobe – dresses of silks and laces and velvets and everything you could possibly wish for."

 

"Oh, no, Tyrion, I couldn't possibly allow you to do that-"

 

He waved away her words, "- nonsense! It will all be at the expense of your loving husband."

 

Sansa was ready to protest to Clegane but he shook his head, serious grey eyes looking into her, "it's alright."

 

She didn't want to ask more of him who had already given her so much, but those eyes were not open for argument. And she didn't want to seem ungrateful. Besides the dress she was wearing now – the dress he had married her in – she had nothing else, not a bonnet nor pelisse.

 

The rest of the day she spent with seamstress and maids, they brought her materials of all kinds, patterns and colours she had never seen before. She allowed them to style her three dresses and fit them, but the rest of the material she requested be left to her to make her own dresses of. That way, Clegane wouldn't be spending as much money on her – and she loved sewing, and heavens knew she would need something to occupy her time.

 

When they seamstress and maids left it was late afternoon. Sansa wandered around Tyrion's house. Many doors led to bedroom or parlours. One led to a huge library which she spent some time in sifting through a few books but not able to find any that interested her enough. She wanted to wander through the gardens but the rain was coming down heavy.

 

Her thoughts strayed to her husband. It had only been last night they had said their vows and become one. But already she felt him slipping from her. There was a barrier between them. It was true they had not been incredibly close before, but she could talk to him. He would joke with her and she was comfortable around him. But now? She hand only seen him briefly this morning during breakfast. He had promised her that their marriage was only one of convenience – he would not touch her, they could continue as they had before; as friends. But even that didn't seem to be happening.

 

She missed Arya. She missed talking to her sister, especially about this. She wanted to see her, it may be late but she could visit. But her father's words came back to her. Her mother would still be upset and seeing her probably wouldn't be the best idea. And her brothers? Robb, Bran, Rikkon. What would they say to her now? Would they hate her for risking their reputations as well as her own? She blinked back the tears that swelled behind her eyes at the thought.

 

She hurried down the stairs to the door of the room in which she had become Clegane's wife. She found it empty but hurried to the desk where she found paper and a quill. She knew Tyrion wouldn't mind her using some, and if he came back she could just explain to him.

 

She sat down in the low seat and dipped the quill in the pot of black ink and began to write.

 

_Dearest Arya,_

_I hope this letter reaches you in time. I am to leave with Mr. Clegane tomorrow, we are traveling to Clegane house – our new home to stay for a while, at least until everyone accepts our marriage. You have no doubt heard of it by now; that I am married to him. You of all people know my reasons, you know why I had to do it, that I had no choice. I hope you do not worry for me, I am safe with him. I hope I will see you soon, I hope perhaps I may see you even briefly before tomorrow. I hope some time you can come visit me once I am settled in my new home. I will miss you, all of you. Please do not tell mother or father the truth. Let them believe we are married out of love._

_Burn this once you have read it lest they find it._

_Your loving sister,_

_Sansa_

 

She let the ink dry then sealed the letter with wax. She gave the letter to a boy in the kitchens with strict instruction to deliver it to the Stark residence, giving it to no one but Miss Arya Stark.

 

She watched the young boy ride away until he disappeared into the trees surrounding the house. Then she watched some more, wishing she could go with him. She was scared; scared of what was to happen to her now. Would her husband continue the way they were now? Distant and awkward?

 

She clasped her hands in front of her, eyes closed, head bowed and her lips touched her fingers softly. She prayed now, she prayed for her family, she prayed for herself, but mostly she whispered her thanks to her God, thanks that he had saw fit to save her from Joffrey. She prayed he would help her, guide her and give her strength.

 

He alone knew, she would need it.


	14. Chapter 14

The next morning Sansa woke to sunlight flooding through the high arch windows that faced her bed. She stretched and smiled, wriggling in the warm, comfortable bed. She rolled over to shake Arya awake and frowned when her fingers connected with nothing but cool air.

She cracked an eye open and found herself not in her bed in her home, but back in Sandor Clegane's bed in Tyrion Lannister's home. Everything came flooding back and the sunlight slipped back behind some clouds.

She threw the covers off her and shivered as the morning autumn air ghosted over her skin. She padded barefoot over to the windows and pulled back the thin, white curtains. The sun was struggling through the thick clouds that covered the sky, trees with golden leaves shedding them slowly. Today was the day she left all this behind; going to her new home with her husband. The thought excited her which was surprising, but a small amount of fear was still with her.

She washed her face and neck in the basin and put on the dress laid out by her maids. All her dresses and materials had been packed in big, heavy trunks the previous night and taken down to the carriage. She had a few books and other things to occupy her time in a bag she would keep with her in the carriage.

The dress was beautiful; dark blue material with silver embroidery on the sleeves and neckline. It was long and flowed around her as she walked. She brushed her hair, leaving it to drape around her shoulders but pulled two strands at her temples back and secured them with a simple silver clasp.

She had a grey fur cloak to wear over it, black gloves and a silver bonnet with red ribbon. She left those with her bag and smoothed her hands over the material of the dress as she made her way downstairs.

Sandor and Tyrion were already eating when she arrived in the dining hall. Tyrion greeted her with compliments on her new dress. She took her seat and looked up to see Mr Clegane gazing at her almost in awe. She blushed and hid her smile behind her napkin.

"All is prepared, everything packed and loaded. You can leave once you have finished eating."

Sansa smiled at him, his mismatched eyes twinkled at her in their usual mischief but his smile was sincere, "thank you, Tyrion, for everything you have done for me. I greatly appreciate it, and I won't forget it."

His smile widened and he reached over to pat her hand, "I only did what was right, my dear. Now all you have to do is try not to get too bored by dear Clegane."

Clegane rolled his eyes at him, "we will leave in an hour or so" he said it more like a question to Sansa who nodded and smiled before taking a sip of tea.

A servant came in then and leaned over to speak quietly to Tyrion. She saw his eyes widen in surprise but he waved the servant away with a smile.

"Well, my dear Sansa, it seems you have visitors."

Sansa stared at him completely taken aback but when her eyes found the two figures being led into the room her face broke into a wide smile.

She rose and ran to embrace her sister who laughed out loud, "Gods, I don't see you for a night and a day and this is the state you are in – what will you do when you actually leave?" but her hands clung to her older sister and her face buried into the red hair. Arya smelled of fresh air and her cheeks were cold, they must have ridden here.

She pulled away from Arya and embraced Jon next who smiled at her solemnly but held her tight, "Father told us everything," he said quietly into her ear so only she could hear him, "but I need to hear it from you – do you love him?"

Sansa pulled away from his warm embrace and looked up into his Stark eyes, his mother's eyes, her father's eyes, "yes."

Those eyes searched her face but he was smiling a small, shy smile and nodded.

"Then I wish you all the happiness in the world."

"Thank you, I'm so glad you both came!" she breathed, grinning at them both, "I will miss you both so much. How is mother?" she asked, more serious.

Arya and Jon shared a look, "she was upset at first," Arya said slowly, "but father spoke to her for a long time and she calmed down. But she is still quite upset, but when father told her you were happy and the marriage was true – that you really loved each other she seemed to accept it…"

"She's more or less the same as father – she said she noticed you and Clegane had a sort of bond, but she didn't expect this."

Sansa nodded at their answers, there was little that could be done now. She hoped one day her mother would find it easier, but that day was not likely to be any time soon.

Clegane came up to stand a little behind her, "Everything is ready," he said softly, "we will leave whenever you are ready."

She smiled at him and nodded, "I'll fetch the last of my things."

He bowed to them and left without another word.

"Hm, still not too chatty is he?" Jon muttered quietly which had Arya giggling. Sansa swatted his arm playfully and he laughed.

Arya accompanied her upstairs to get the last of her belongings while Jon went outside to ready their horses for their ride back home.

Arya looked around the chamber as Sansa carefully piled her hair atop her head in a simple fashion, securing it with a number of pins.

"Have you really bedded him?"

Sansa nearly choked on a pin she held between her lips at Arya's sudden words.

"Of course not!" she hissed at her sister's reflection in the mirror, "it is a marriage of convenience, you know that! We are just as we were before – it was all done so Joffrey-"

"-I know that much," Arya huffed, annoyed, "it's just that everything Father said seemed very…real. Even I had my doubts thinking maybe you both really were in love and I didn't even notice!"

Sansa found herself laughing as she secured the last of her hair in place then stood to carefully slip the bonnet over her auburn curls, tying the ribbon under her chin and admiring her reflection in the mirror.

Arya helped her drape the gray cloak around her shoulders, admiring the soft fur trim then handed her the gloves which she slipped on her hands. They too were lined with fur inside and when she looked in the mirror, Sansa saw a regal lady looking back.

"Gods, you look like mum!" Arya exclaimed behind her, tickling her sister through the lavish materials making her squirm and spin away.

She picked up her bag then followed Arya to the door, casting one more wistful glance around the room then closing the door behind herself. She descended the stairs carefully, holding the skirts of her dress and the hem of her cloak in one hand and holding the banister with the other, chatting to Arya all the while.

Clegane waited at the bottom of the stairs, his eyes sweeping over her with that same, amazed expression on his face, quickly righting himself when her eyes met him. He held out his hand to her which she took and he tucked her arm in his.

Arya walked with them out into the drive where Jon stood with his and Arya's horses beside the simple, black carriage that would carry her to her new home. She hugged her sister and cousin goodbye, extracting a promise from Arya that she would visit. Then she turned to Tyrion who grinned up at her. She knelt and kissed his cheek, whispering a thank you to him and smiled when his ears went red.

The she turned to her husband who held open the carriage door for her and stepped inside to begin her new life.

V


	15. Chapter 15

The carriage was cold but Clegane covered her in furs and she had the gloves and cloak to keep her warm so it was in no way uncomfortable. Clegane sat opposite her, log legs stretched out before him. The faint morning light illuminated his face in a warm glow. He sat with his scars turned away from her, the good side of his face to her and she decided he was really quite hansom. His stormy grey eyes were familiar and comforting to her now, gone was the rage usually within them as he watched the countryside pass beyond the carriage, carrying them away form he gossip and drama of their lives there. The usual harshness of his features was gone, replaced with a gentle control. His nose was strong, slightly hooked, his dark hair falling to his shoulders, chiselled lips slightly parted as he breathed slowly. Sansa found her fingers itch to touch his face as she had the night they waltzed together, wanting to feel the slight stubble dusting his jaw, feel if his skin was as smooth as it looked. She found comfort watching him, the feeling of protection holding her close in the small place.  

She soon became used to the jolting of the road and the rattle of the horse's hooves, it became almost soothing to her. She occupied her time mostly by watching the scenery beyond the window. She read her book idly, losing interest quickly. Mr. Clegane sat in silence most of the time making Sansa more and more aware of the barrier that had grown between them. But when she attempted idle chatter with him he didn't dismiss her, he listened to her like he had that day in Wintertown and she was surprised that she still had subjects to talk about after that day.

 

She even fell asleep at one point, waking to find her husband gazing at her with a strange expression on his face, something akin to a smile on his lips. He had jumped when her eyes opened and quickly looked out the window once more.

 

When the sun began to disappear behind the hills in the distance they stopped at an Inn for the night. It was small but fit their needs. They were shown to a small room that boasted naught but a bed, a lumpy armchair next to a fire, a small window and a washing basin. It wasn't much, but to Sansa, tired of jolting around in a cold carriage all day – it was heaven.

 

She sat on the edge of the bed timidly, feeling it sink beneath her weight.

 

Sandor paid the owner and ordered that he bring dinner to their room, "and bring a bath for my wife; a small luxury after our travels."

 

He gave the man another coin and the keeper bowed and left. Soon after a basin was brought in and maids filled it with steaming water. Their food was set out on a small table; a hearty beef stew, some potatoes, a baked ham and a large jug of wine which Sandor claimed.

 

He poured himself a glass and looked over to her as she stripped herself of her gloves and cloak, having already shed her bonnet when she was in the carriage.

 

I'll give you privacy, little bird," he rasped, taking his mug of wine and heading to the door. I'll return when you are done.

 

She smiled at him gratefully and he looked at her once before closing the door behind himself, "lock it" came his muffled voice from the other side and she quickly followed his request. Only when he heard the latch slide shut did the sound of his retreating footsteps reach her.

 

Later after she had ate, bathed and sipped at a small glass of wine, she slipped into a night gown and after unlocking the door for Mr. Clegane, crawled between the sheets of the bed. She was surprised to find it quite comfortable as she lay back against the puffy white pillow. The room was dark; the sun had long retreated behind the horizon and the room was lit in a soft orange glow from the fire.

 

Sansa tossed and turned but sleep would not some to her. After what felt like an eternity, the door opened and Sandor ducked into the room. He turned and locked the door behind him and glanced at her lying in the bed, curled up on one side feigning sleep.

 

She heard him sigh as he moved across the room to the basin where he filled it with water from the jug beside it and washed his face. She heard him undress and felt her heart skip unevenly.

 

There was quiet for a while after he had removed his boots. Then she heard a horrid creak as he sat down in the uncomfortable looking chair. After a while of waiting and listening to his breathing she sat up.

 

There he sat; leaning back awkwardly in the chair, his head lolled back his eyes closed but a frown marking his brow, his cloak draped over himself to provide some heat as he sat as far away from the fire as possible.

 

"You are not going to sleep there all night are you?"

 

He lifted his head and opened one eye, squinting at her, "aye, hence me sitting in it trying to sleep."

 

Sansa's mouth opened then shut. Then finding some burst of confidence she reached over and pushed the corner of the cover she lay beneath down on the side next to her.

 

"Here, sleep here with me. It isn't fair that you should sit in that awful thing. And it is a cold night. We are man and wife after all. And I'm frightened." The last was a lie, she felt very safe with him near her, but she chirped her words knowing they would get him to bend to her will.

 

He looked at her for a long while then with a muttered "fuck it" threw the cloak to the ground and stood up. He wore nothing but his trousers and linen shirt and he slipped in between the sheets silently. He lay without touching her, his back to her.

 

She wanted to shuffle closer to him and cuddle against him, like she used to with Arya but…different. She lay staring at his back for a time, until finding her eyes drooping too heavily she rolled over onto her side so they were back to back and closed her eyes.

 

"Goodnight, Sandor" she whispered, tasting his name on her tongue for the first time, listening to his slow steady breathing.

 

She was surprised when she heard the low rasp of his voice bid her goodnight in return, and she smiled and slept.

 

V

 

“Sansa, my sweet lady.”

His voice was like honey, sickeningly sweet, dripping from his mouth like blood from a lion’s.

Hard fingers gripped her jaw, nails digging into her flesh. His mouth was at her ear.

“You can not escape me, foolish girl. I know the truth, not even your dog can protect you from me, I will have what is mine.”

Fingers raked at her flesh, tore at her dress.

“No! No, please!”

She shook her head, nausea churning her stomach as she fought against him. Her skirts tangled around her legs making escape impossible, his hand was around her throat, tightening and she choked.

“Joffrey, please! I beg of you no!”

“Sansa.”

Her eyes flew open and she shot up in the bed, feeling a pair of strong arms around her. The ropes of sleep still clinging to her, she panicked as fear surged through her, Joffrey was here, he had come for her.

“No! Release me! Joffrey – no!”

She kicked and squealed but the arms held her fast.

“Sansa! It’s all right, you had a nightmare, you’re safe.”

The voice spoke to her in calming, rumbling tones, cool fingers stroking her tear soaked cheeks. As her eyes adjusted to her surroundings, the small light of the moon filtering through the inn’s window revealed her husband to her. Her surroundings came back to her and she breathed a sigh of relief as she looked up into those calm, grey eyes.

“S-Sandor.”

“Yes, I’m here, Joffrey can’t harm you, you are safe with me,” his voice was a deep, soothing rumble, his warm hands gentle as they eased her back down to the mattress, tucking the covers around her once more.

“Sleep now, little bird.”

He took his place once more beside her, settling down into a silence.

She itched from her nightmare, feeling calm with him here, but her cheeks tingled with his touch, missing his reassuring embrace that had pulled her from her nightmare.

She had a moment of trepidation before throwing caution to the wind and moved her hand, feeling over to his side of the large bed until she found his arm. She felt him stiffen under her touch but made no move as her fingers slid down his sleeve beneath the covers until they laced with his own. His skin was calloused but warm. After a pause, his thumb began stroking reassuringly and softly over her skin and she felt her eyes droop close.

She slipped back into sleep, this time nightmares did not come.

 

V

 

 

It was just after dawn when Sansa was pulled from the warm glow of sleep back into reality.

 

Her eyes flickered as she regained consciousness. She smiled and yawned, nuzzling her faze into the warm solid object beside her.

 

She felt arms tighten around her and jerked awake in surprise.

 

The next thing she realized was the solid, warm body tucked into her own behind her. Her back to his chest, his legs tangled with hers, her hair splayed across her pillow. One arm was around her waist, wrapped tight around her stomach protectively. The other…she blushed and felt her heart quicken to find it around the swell of a breast. The heat of him was like fire. But a good fire.

 

She tried to wriggle away, scared of what his reaction would be should he wake and find them in such an intimate position. But as soon as she moved his arms tightened and his face nuzzled into her hair at the back of her neck. That sent a shiver all down her spine and she felt a heat quicken between her legs. So she lay there, allowing herself to enjoy her husband's arms around her, feigning sleep with a smile on her face.

 

But all too soon she felt him wake, yawning and huffing then stiffening as he came to awareness. Then his arms were gone, gently setting her right in her sleep but removing himself from such an intimate hold on her. But he stayed in bed with her a while longer. She could feel his warm breath on the back of her neck still and a small tickle of her scalp made her realize he was touching her hair gently. Then he was gone, sitting up and dressing himself.

 

She lay still listening to him pull his boots on then a large, warm hand gently shook her shoulder.

 

She opened her eyes, blinking a few times to feign the grogginess of just waking up and looked up into that scarred face.

 

"Time to go, little bird" he said softly, and then turned around to face the door, giving her privacy while she dressed.

 

She wore the same dress as yesterday; her clothes still packed away in the trunks tied to the carriage. When she had donned her cloak and gloves she picked up her bonnet and tapped Sandor's shoulder lightly. He turned and nodded to her then held the door open for her as they left the room.

 

V

 

They rode mostly in silence that day, Sandor scowling out the window while Sansa leafed through another book. After a while she sat back and sighed, gazing at the roof of the carriage very bored.

 

"How far away is Clegane House?" she asked, looking to Sandor.

 

"We will be there by sundown tomorrow night, if all goes well."

 

"Will we stay in another inn tonight?"

 

"Yes, there is one I usually stay at when I travel down, it's ju-"

 

The carriage suddenly jerked and fell to one side causing Sansa to topple out of her seat and land right into the lap of her husband.

 

They had stopped moving and Sandor quickly helped her right herself. They stepped out of the carriage to find the driver curse and climb down from his seat, one of the boys that rode the back jumped down too. The back right wheel was lodged in a deep puddle of mud, deep enough that the horses would not be able to pull it out.

 

"We'll need to push it out, come, Sansa stand back," Sandor ordered, peeling off his jacket and handing it to her.

 

He, the driver and the boy all lined up at the back of the carriage, pushing against it structure. Grunts filled the air and their feet slipped in the mucky ground but the carriage began to move forwards.

 

Sansa blushed as she watched the muscles move beneath her husband's thin shirt, his arms staining through the fabric as he heaved forwards. She remembered the strength of them around her last night, the firm gentleness of his large hands, his heat searing through her night down to her skin beneath. She felt her cheeks heat and turned away. They had stopped on a forest path, mucky and narrow and surrounded by trees.

 

The loud groan of them all heaving the wheel out of the mud reached her and she turned back. The carriage righted once more on the road and Sandor walking towards her. He was breathing hard and he reached out and took his jacket back from her.

 

His hand brushed her and she felt a jolt in her stomach. The memory of that large hand cupping her breast earlier that morning pooled a heat between her thighs that she found very distracting.

 

He dipped his head to look at her face as he shrugged the jacket back on, "everything alright?" he asked her.

 

She nodded quickly, "yes I'm just tired is all" she excused.

 

He nodded and guided her back to the carriage with one hand on the small of her back, "we'll be at the inn soon enough," he said and she tried her best to ignore the heat of his hand upon her. She shivered as she climbed back into the carriage.

 

For the rest of the journey she feigned sleep, listening to his steady breathing and concentrating on the rock of the carriage and not on thoughts of his hands on her.

 

V


	16. Chapter 16

It was nightfall when they reached the Inn. It was much bigger than the last and by all means grander. They were shown to their room which had a bath already filled, a washbasin and jug on a table next to it. A large fireplace with a roaring fire heated the room. The bed was large and looked very welcoming after the bumping of the carriage. There was a table laden with food and a jug of wine.

 

"I sent word ahead that we would be arriving tonight and had them prepare the room for us," Sandor explained before she could ask, as he closed the door.

 

She smiled up at her husband for his thoughtfulness. He held her seat out for her and Sansa's stomach growled eagerly at the sight of the food laid before her. They both ate their fill and Sandor left her again after the maids had cleared their plates so she could bathe.

She lay in the tub, savouring it’s warm comfort. The water was scented with lavender and she felt the tension seep out of her, her bones achy from bouncing around in that carriage all day. She lay back, gaze wandering round the room, falling eventually upon the bed. Her eyes drooped and she felt all she could do would be sleep, sleep for days, years even. Yet fear knotted her stomach, would it be another night plagued by nightmares of Joffrey? His hands hurting her, remembering how real it felt to have his nails dig into her skin, tearing her dress from her. She shivered and immersed herself further in the water up to her chin. The nightmare did not come when Clegane had lain beside her. She clasped her hands together under the water, lacing her fingers, her slenderness a contrast to his girth, his strength had brought her great comfort and she had slept sound. There was a chair beside the fire, like the room they had stayed in last night, she wondered if that would be his preferred sleeping spot again tonight. She prayed not, she knew that without him beside her, Joffrey would find her in the dreams once more.

Clegane arrived back as she was getting into bed, her hair dried from sitting by the fire, falling around her in thick waves. She sat with her arms encircling the covers over he bent knees and watched him undress to his shirt and trousers once more. He extinguished the candles and looked to her. She stared back to him in the dark. After a moment she leaned over, pushing the covers down on the opposite side of the bed and looked at him expectantly.

“Will you…” she blushed, feeling naked beneath his heavy gaze, “…I thought tha, if you were here again…the nightmares will not come.”

Her voice was small and wavered with her nerves.

“Little bird -”

“- please, Sandor,” his name felt too intimate on her lips in this small space, “it is silly for you to sleep in those awful chairs. I trust you, you make me feel safe.”

He must have read the trepidation and sincere plea in her face, for he sighed, raked a hand through his hair and climbed into the bed without another word.

 

V

 

Sansa dreamed a wonderful dream that night.

 

She dreamed of a man; tall and broad and strong, with his arms around her, kissing her with a scarred mouth.

 

She dreamed of his eyes open and honest, his voice gravely and rumbling in her ear.

 

She dreamed of his hands on her body, touching, stroking, kneading and feeling.

 

His mouth kissing and sucking and biting all over.

 

He breathed out her name and he spilled inside her, proclaiming his passion to the heavens and declaring his love for her.

 

The soft tug of pain at her head pulled her away from her blissful slumber and she found herself back in that cold inn, but wrapped once more in the heat of Sandor Clegane.

 

She trembled as the recesses of her dream last night left her. She blushed furiously, finding herself encased so deeply in his embrace. She longed to stay there, but a voice in her head spoke of it impropriety. Thiers was a marriage one convenience, he had sad so himself.

Yet, there was a strong curiosity awakened within her. She marvelled at the contrast in his body to hers. Where she was soft and curved he was hard and lines. Where her breasts were pressed against his chest she could feel the hard contours of his muscles, the steady beat of his heart. Inquisitive fingers explores against her better judgement. They found the hem of his shirt and dared to dip beneath to softly caress his skin. He was warm, the skin of his stomach surprisingly soft despite the rolling muscles, a light dusting of hair coarse yet soft.

She froze at his answering groan, his face buried into her hair, mouth nuzzled against her neck and she shivered as he blew out a sigh against her.

What would he think of her to wake and see her so? She tried to move, feeling almost suffocated by the intense heat radiating off him but when she moved a sharp jolt of pain burned at the back of her head. Her long hair was trapped beneath the bulk of his body and made her movements very limited. She tried to free herself but was afraid to wake him lest he find them in his compromising situation she had created.

She shifted again, a hand pressed to his chest, blushing when she involuntarily ran her fingers through the soft, dark hairs there from the opening of his shirt.

He murmured something lowly in his sleep and rolled suddenly and she was pinned beneath him. Somehow her thighs had parted and she could feel a strange hardness now pressing against her heat.

 

She whimpered, ashamed to find herself enjoying such a feeling and her hips bucked up involuntary. The man above her groaned and ground his hips against hers, she gasped at the feeling. She was filled with an intense need for him, not sure what it was she wanted but knew that only he could give it to her. She longed to give in, to allow him to do what he wanted with her. His touch was intense, so different from any she had felt before. She craved more, feeling the heat rise within her until it was almost unbearable and yet not enough.

 

This wasn't right. The proper thing would be to wake him. She gripped his shoulders and tried to push him off but his weight was heavy on her in his sleep. His hips ground against her and she moaned at the feeling, her fingers gripping his arms, unwilling to push him off, feeling her rsolve disappearing fast.

 

His head was rested against her shoulder now and she heard her name breathed like a prayer against her skin, "Sansa."

 

She didn't think she had ever heard him say her name before now.

 

Guilt flooded her when she found herself shiver in pleasure and she forced herself to push against him again, "Sandor! Wake up!"

 

He groaned in his sleep then his eyes fluttered open. He blinked groggily then suddenly bolted up on his hands and knees above when he came to his senses.

 

"Seven bloody hells!" he proclaimed, his eyes took in the gravity of their situation and he growled out a curse, rolling off her like she had burned him.

 

He stood and his eyes looked everywhere but her as she sat up in the bed ready to apologize, "shit, little bird, I'm sorry i…fuck, forgive me," he rambled, then dressed quicker than she thought possible and left the room.

 

V

 

The carriage ride after that was in complete silence. Sandor sat as far away from her as was humanly possible. He did not sleep, did not lounge back in the seat, instead he sat rigid, a sullen silence casting them in a grey cloud. At one point Sansa feared he was going to jump out of the window he was watching it so closely. He refused to look at her save for one time when she had coughed lightly. His eyes had flipped to her and the look on his face – a look of complete disgust had made her blood run cold. His gaze had then returned to the view beyond the window and she had looked down at her clasped hands in her lap, willing the tears that blurred her vision not to fall.

 

She couldn't understand what he was so upset about. It has purely by accident what had happened. And they were married now; it wasn't as if it was improper. But that look, that disgust on his face. Was it that he found her completely undesirable? Sansa's spirits fell at the though, that had to be it. She had thought all this time that perhaps he held some – even a small amount of affection for her, be it just as a friend. But surely even friends would not act this way with her. She couldn't understand it. She couldn't understand him.

 

The sun was setting, casting an orange glow on the countryside around them when the carriage finally pulled to a stop. Sansa could smell salt in the air and she wondered if they were near the sea. Sandor wordlessly stepped out the carriage and held the door open for her but did not offer his hand to her.

 

She stepped out of the carriage and looked up at her new home – Clegane House.

 

V


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Introducing a few new people here – "Babby" is inspiration from The Wicked Earl book – she's needed for the story and I love her.
> 
> Also mentions of Sandor's sister in later chapters [I'll just mention it here because I will most likely forget] I have given her a name of my own since her name isn't mentioned in the books or TV series as far as I know.
> 
> Also, Clegane House had a few adjustments to fit the story.

Clegane House was nothing like Sansa had expected. It was large and simple, but beautiful. The house was three floors, its windows glinted with the setting sun's rays. The gardens were simple and stretched out to meet fields all round. The house was on a cliff, gardens stretching out until meeting the top of sand dunes that dropped down to what must be a beach; she could hear the sea somewhere close and the smell of salt was in the air. The wind lifted her hair that she had left undone and she smiled, brushing her auburn locks away from her face.

 

Sandor was beside her and he gently took her elbow, leading her towards the house. A few maids and servants stood to greet them and beside them an elderly woman with a friendly face and a wide smile. She came forwards and kissed her cheek, "welcome to Clegane Manner, my dear. I am Mrs. Clegane, Sandor's grandmother and keeper of the house, but please, call me Babs – none of this 'Mrs Clegane' nonsense – that is your name now, after all" she beamed at Sansa who was shocked – grandmother? "My you're a pretty one!" she praised her, hugging her close, "this place is your home now, my dear and we are all your family."

 

Sansa smiled gratefully at her then she moved to embrace Sandor warmly, throwing her arms around his broad shoulders. He had to lean down for her to reach him but his hands held her gently and Sansa could see his scars twitch in a smile.

 

"Gods, Sandor! You never stop growing."

 

Sansa smiled as Sandor rolled his eyes, "it's good to see you, Babs," he growled as the elderly woman pinched his cheek. Babs linked arms with Sansa and led her into the house while Sandor ordered the carriage to be unloaded and her things sent to her room.

 

Babs led her up some stairs and to the top floor, chattering about the house all the while, pointing out a painting of her husband fondly or telling her what some rooms were. By the time they reached the third floor her cheeks were flushed even redder than before, her chest heaving as she breathed, whisps of grey hair escaping the bun atop her head.

“Gods, I am getting too old for this,” she muttered good heartedly and once more took Sansa’s offered arm. They continued on down corridor until they reached a large wooden door, flowers engraved in the mahogany.

 

"…and this will be your room, I hope it is to your liking" she said happily, opening the door and stepping aside to let Sansa enter first.

 

The room was very big, arch windows lined the opposite wall, in the middle of which were oak double doors with cross pained windows that led out onto a balcony. A large bed was nestled against one wall, four posters with heavy yellow curtains. A wardrobe sat next to it and a wash basin and jug, bath and chest of drawers. A huge fireplace was built into the wall beside the door they had just entered with a basket of wood sitting beside. A desk and chair with papers and ink-pot and quill sat at the other wall where a door led into another room.

 

Sansa looked at it questioningly, "ah, that is Sandor's room, nice and close lest you should need him."

 

"don't you fret, doe, Sandor had told me all about your situation, I am very proud of him for what he has done for you, he always had a gentle heart – not many would know that. I'm sure you know, behind his gruff manner and the scars is a gentle man."

 

Sansa smiled at the old woman, loving her already. She was warm and soft and put Sansa's nervous heart at ease. It seemed she would have a friend here after all.

 

"I hope the room is to your liking, my dear, it’s just as her Ladyship left it."

 

“Her Ladyship?”

Babs smiled at her, “The former Lady Clegane – Sandor’s mother, this was her room.”

Babs looked around her fndly, a sad smile on her lips and Sansa felt her heart tighten and a lump come to her throat, feeling the intimacy in being given such a room.

 

"it's perfect," she breathed, "thank you, Babs."

 

The old lady beamed at her, "well I best be getting the rest of the house ready for you both – the maids will bring up your belongings and I’ll call you for dinner when it is ready. Don't be afraid to ask for anything and have a look around."

 

When she was gone and the servants had brought her belongings to her, when Sansa had unpacked and changed into a new dress she sat upon her bed and concentrated on taking everything in. This was it – this was her new life now. She smiled; it was better than she could have imagined.

 

And yet. Sandor was still distant with her – even more so than after the wedding. The…incident in the inn had truly shaken him. She prayed that things would return to normal again. But that look still haunted her.

 

She decided to distract herself by exploring. The house was even bigger on the inside than it looked. She found a few more bedrooms, a few parlours, a huge library with more books than Tyrion's. The house was beautiful; all brown oak and dark colours. The windows let so much light in – even in the late setting sun hour. Paintings lined the walls – mostly of landscapes and the occasional portrait of strangers. She wandered through the second floor landing and stopped when she came to a huge window overlooking the sea. The grass of the gardens rolled on beside the house until it met the sandy dunes that were not as steep as they had looked earlier. There was a small, private beach at the bottom, surrounded on either side by the cliffs. The sea stretched on so far and Sansa marvelled at it, it's beautiful sparkling surface.

 

She was about to turn away and continue her exploring when her eyes found a tree near the end of the garden. The tree was huge and just like the ones at home; white bark with blood red leaves. Father always called it a Godswood and when she was younger she would say her prayers in front of it. But what caught her attention was the tall, broad figure of her husband. His back was to the house where he stood, his hands clasped in front of him and head bowed. She frowned wondering what he was doing, but he just stood there. After a long while he bowed and turned, returning towards the house. She watched him until he disappeared into what looked like the stables – or Kennels, he had told her about his family's love for dog breeding for hunting.

 

"Ah there you are, doe!"

 

Sansa jumped at Babs' voice and turned from the window, "dinner is ready, come along, my dear," she said, smiling her warm smile and holding her arm out for Sansa to take.

 

V

 

Dinner was…awkward.

 

The dining room was simple; a row of windows at Sansa's back where she sat at the long, oak dinner table. Sandor sat to her right – at the head and Babs to his right – in front of Sansa.

 

The food was heavenly, everything she could ever have wished for was laid out in front of her and she ate delicately though she wanted to rip at it all with her hands and shove it in her mouth. She was famished.

 

Sandor spoke to Babs about their travels – only mentioning that it was long but somewhat comfortable and that they were both exhausted from it. He spoke to her about the House affairs and the servants. And Sansa sat in silence.

 

But she did notice his eyes glancing to her every so often.

 

After a while, when silence stretched between them, Sansa had had enough, "the house is beautiful, Sandor, you never told me it was next to the beach – I'd never seen the sea before."

 

She saw Babs smile widely at her out of the corner of her eyes but she held her gaze upon her husband, who looked at her with surprise but a small twitch of his cheek gave her ease.

 

"I'm glad you like it."

 

She smiled kindly at him, reaching over to the jug of wine and re filled his glass, and her own, Babs didn't drink wine.

 

"There is much to do to…occupy your time," he continued, watching her as she filled his cup then took a drink of her own.

 

"The beach is there if ever you want to see it, you'll like it. The gardens are extensive and the stables have a horse you can ride, there is also a town not far from here you can visit, it's not quite like Wintertown…" he trailed of, clearing his throat and taking a long drink of his wine.

 

"It all sounds wonderful," he said, wanting to reassure him after hearing his nervous voice. He seemed to want her to know she wouldn't be too bored here, but after seeing the place, Sansa couldn't think of being bored. The house was beautiful, perfect.

 

"I'll be glad to see it all with you," she replied, wanting him to know that she wished to spend time with him, wanting them to be friends again, wanting the barrier between them to disappear.

 

He took another drink but his cheek twitched.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things get a bit more graphic here [mild sexual abuse]

Joffrey groaned deep in the back of his throat as the red haired whore bounced in his lap, head thrown back moaning and sighing wantonly.

He dug his nails into her back again and dragged them down to her hips. He shivered in delight at her whimper of pain and when she raised her head and slowed her movements, wriggling to get out of his grasp.

"I asked you to stop that! It hurts."

He only gripped her harder, "good," he snarled.

She struggled some more and he let her go, she raised herself off him, gasping as he slipped out of her and stood, turning to leave – finally having enough no matter how much he paid.

He felt himself twitch at the sight of all the scratches on her back, blood trickling down slowly.

He lunged at her, tripping her so she fell hard on all floors upon the floor of the brothel – in his private room. She cried out as he pulled her red hair sharply, her head jerking back and he plunged back into her.

He held her tightly by her hair as he rammed in and out of her, taking pleasure both from the feeling and the sound of her crying.

He looked down at that red hair and imagined it was Sansa Stark – now Clegane.

He growled and gripped her tight with the other hand around her hips, digging fingers in until she screamed.

The thought of his lady being claimed by his dog angered him beyond all control. He didn't like people taking what was his.

He knew he could have any woman he wanted – they all thought him the perfect golden haired prince. But Sansa Stark was different.

She had fear. He saw it in her eyes. Where the others had fight or submissiveness she had fear.

He grinned as he grabbed the whore's arms, pulling them behind her back causing her face to slam into the floor as she lost all support. She cried out but he never stopped. He pulled her arms tight, folding them behind her back and pressed his body down, trapping them painfully.

He plunged into her relentlessly, hissing in her ear and biting her skin hard until he tasted the coppery tang of blood.

He came undone then, releasing deep in her and collapsing back against the legs of the chair behind him. The whore scrambled up, sobbing and shaking, grabbing her dress he had ripped apart earlier and glared at him through the tears and blood that trickled down her face. Many men would be punished severely for treating a whore so – but he was Joffrey Baratheon, wealthiest man in all of Westeros. He would pay out the owner as he had done time and time again and continue onto the next whore.

"You're a monster!" she screeched then flew from the room like it was on fire.

He grinned, tucking himself back into his breeches and reached for a glass of wine.

Yes, yes he was a monster. And he had a plan for his lady who had thought she could escape him with a wedding vow to a dog.

Stupid little girl.

V


	19. Chapter 19

Sansa was awakened the next morning by a maid pouring warm water into the jug by her washbasin. The maid was a slender girl with dark hair and eyes. When she noticed Sansa was awake she smiled warmly.

 

"Good morning, miss" she said, curtsying neatly.

 

Sansa was surprised to hear her thick, foreign accent. She sat up in her bed and rubbed the sleep from her eyes, "'morning" she mumbled sleepily.

 

The maid smile widened and she moved closer to help her out of the bed.

 

"My name is Shae, I am to be your hand maid" she said as Sansa stood.

 

"Oh, I didn't know I would get a hand maid, well it's nice to make your acquaintance" she said, smiling sleepily.

 

"I've never been a maid before; Mr Clegane has never had a lady to the house…" Shae admitted, a blush lighting her cheeks prettily.

 

"That's alright; I've never had a maid before."

 

Shae grinned at Sansa then. Sansa went to her washbasin and washed her face and neck, grateful for the water's warmth after her groggy awakening. When she was done, she turned to find Shae watching her expectantly.

 

"Um, can you help me get dressed?" she asked, the maid nodded and went to the wardrobe, throwing the doors open and studying it's contents.

 

"What would you like to wear, ma'am?"

 

Sansa grimaced at the name she had heard servants call her mother all her life, "please, call me Sansa."

 

Shae smiled over her shoulder at her, "Sansa then, what would you like to wear?"

 

"Something simple and warm."

 

Shae selected a lovely pale blue dress with silk roses sewn into the neckline and bodice. The sleeves were long and the skirt floaty. She helped Sansa change into her smallclothes, chemise, corset and a white petticoat. The blue dress was next, Sansa held onto Shae's shoulder as she stepped into it, gathering her petticoat around her as Shae pulled the fabric up and over her, Sansa slipping her arms into the sleeves. Shae tied it at the back and stepped back so Sansa could admire her reflection. The dress was beautiful and fitted perfectly. She twirled and giggled when the skirts flew out all around her. Then she sat down at her vanity and Shae brushed her long hair, remarking on its beauty.

 

Sansa stared wistfully in the mirror all the while, lost in thought. Then she blurted out a question had had been hanging in her mind since Shae told her of her lack of experience in being a maid.

 

"Do you know Mr. Clegane well?"

 

Shae's hands did not stop in brushing her hair, "He usually doesn't spend much time here, he prefers the company of the Lannisters and Baratheons – I think he is lonely. But this place holds sad memories for him.

 

Sansa nodded at her reflection, he had lost his parents and beloved sister here, and his burns that had been inflicted by the wrath of his brother. It would be difficult for him to spend time here.

 

"What does the master like to do? In his spare time, what could I suggest to him for us to do together that he would enjoy?"

 

Shae thought for a while, her hands stilling in Sansa's hair, "Well…he likes to walk along the beach mostly, or spend time with the dogs. He rides sometimes, mostly he visits his si…um, the beach, yes that's probably his favourite."

 

Sansa had wanted to go to the beach since the moment she stepped out the carriage and smelled the sea air, heard the waves crashing away down below.

 

"That sounds wonderful; a walk along the beach. I can't wait to see it!"

 

"You have never seen the sea before?" Shae asked, shocked.

 

Sansa blushed, "I've lived in Winterfell my entire life, and I've never travelled very far."

 

"Huh, I'd never thought of that. I suppose since I've seen it all my life I'd take it for granted that I get to be near it - travelled on it too."

 

Sansa was going to ask her where she came from but a knock at the door at that moment interrupted them, a voice spoke from behind the door telling them breakfast was being served.

 

Shae pulled two strands of hair behind her head and secured it there with a few pins, showing her with a mirror that she had twisted the hair around to look like a rose.

 

Satisfied with her appearance, Sansa walked with Shae to the dining room.

 

V

 

Sandor's arm was there again for her to cling on to when she stumbled on a long blade of grass. She smiled up at him gratefully and righted herself. She had changed into a pair of soft brown boots for the walk down to the beach among the sand dunes. She had not expected the sand to be as…unsteady as the ground. The toes of her boots sank into the soft grain as she walked and Sandor had laughed out loud at her amazed expression in that moment.

 

"Honestly, little bird, you'd think you had stepped in a pile of gold" he joked at her, offering her his arm when she had lost her balance.

 

Sansa had took it gratefully but let it go soon after she got used to the feel of the easy ground beneath her boots, until she had stumbled on the long, thick blades of sand grass. So now she clung to his arm as they neared the edge of the beach and Sansa breathed, quite grateful when they left the long grass behind. Now it was just sand, slightly wet from the autumn rain that had fallen in the night. It was windy here but she barely felt it, wearing a black, velvet jacket and her fur lined gloves. She was going to wear a bonnet also but Shae had told her it would be windy there and she could lose it, so now her hair blew free about her face in the wind, glinting red in the sunlight that filtered through the clouds.

 

She grinned back at Sandor who walked behind her, clad all in black and grey, seemingly unaffected by the cold. His dark hair flew in all directions in the wind and his scarred cheek twitched at her smile.

 

But it turned to a grimace when she felt the annoying rub of sand within her boots. She looked down at them, lifting her skirts to glare at them. She then proceeded to kick them off, her small stockings too and discarded them at her bewildered husband's feet, squealing in delight when the freezing, wet, grains of sand were beneath her bare feet.

 

She pulled her skirts to above her ankles – throwing her usual propriety to the wind. She was only with her husband after all, he would see her her entire life – she was allowed to be a little wild every now and then. Heaven knows Arya got away with it often enough!

 

She stood, ankle deep in the freezing cold water, squealing happily and grinning from ear to ear at him, holding her skirts up in each hand.

 

He was grinning back at her, that look on his face like when he had watched her sleep in the carriage that first day.

 

"It's freezing!" she shouted to him over the crashing waves around them, laughing at loud as one rushed through her legs making her lose balance for a moment.

 

"It’s autumn! Come back you're going to catch a cold, little bird!" he shouted back, but he was still grinning.

 

Another wave rushed through her legs – stronger than the last making her lose her balance completely and she dropped her skirts, arms flailing as she toppled backwards.

 

And strong arms came around her, hoisting her up out of the water. She wrapped her arms around Sandor's neck, laughing at his expression.

 

"You saved me!"

 

"And now I'm soaked," he growled but he was grinning when he saw she was ok, turning and carrying her back to shore.

 

He set her down on her feet again, the bottom of her skirt was soaked to her shins and her hair whipped around her face in the wind. She grinned like a little boy with a new toy up at him and she wondered if she looked like Arya.

 

"Me too," she sang, bursting into laughter and he along with her.

 

The barrier was down. They were even better than before, she realized. They were laughing, being free and having fun. Sansa felt better than she had in a long, long time. And she was very glad for it.

 

V

 

"It's wonderful seeing him smile again, it's been too long," Babs said to Shae wistfully as they watched the two forms running along the beach. Even from the house, they could hear the peals of laughter coming from them.

 

"She is good for him," Shae said, folding her arms in front of her and smiling, "they really do love each other."

 

Babs chuckled softly, "let us hope in time they will realize that" she said, smiling her friendly smile and turning from the window to continue her work.

 

Shae continued to watch the couple until they began their walk back and her smile widened when they neared the house, hand in hand, smiles plastering their faces.


	20. Chapter 20

Sansa's continuously good spirits were contagious.

 

She sat in the drawing room with him and Babs, his grandmother was immersed in the same book she had been reading that morning at breakfast, while Sansa was sewing herself a new dress from the material he had bought her.

 

His eyes lingered on her, sitting on the white couch, facing Babs who sat opposite her in an armchair. From where he sat he could only see one side of her, her profile highlighted by the setting sun's rays that filtered through the windows lining the wall on the other side of her. Her hair glowed with the sunset, shining coppery red. It flowed down her back, a few strands falling down to curtain her face on one side. Her skin was creamy ivory, her blue eyes focuses on her work. He watched her dip the needle into the soft fabric then pull it back towards her, making one stitch then repeating the process over and over. There was something strangely hypnotizing in watching her work. Her pink lips were pulled in a small smile as she worked, her eyes studying the fabric before her which draped from her lap to pool on the floor at her feet.

 

She had changed out of the dress she had worn on the beach, wearing a simple, white high-waisted gown with a pattern of red embroidered leaves and flowers running down the hem of the robe and short sleeves. The dress had a low, square neckline and Sandor found his eyes drawn to the soft swell of her teats. He scolded himself and tore his gaze back to the letters he was reading at his desk. He cursed himself for oogling at the little bird like Joffrey did. The memory of waking in the Inn with her beneath him, looking up into him with wide, frightened eyes came back to him. Finding himself between her legs like that, pinning her down into the mattress – he hated himself for it. He was supposed to be the one to prevent things like that happening to her – he was supposed to protect her from Joffrey. And yet he was just as bad, it seemed.

 

And the little bird, she forgave him, as only she could, being ever kind. He had forced a wall between them, wanting to keep her from him and his sick desires, but she battled past and made him smile, laugh and grateful for her being in his life. He did not deserve her.

 

He remembered the sight of her at the beach today, how he had been completely startled to see her standing in the freezing cold seawater, skirts hoisted up to her shins, hair flying about in the wind like autumn leaves, laughing joyfully, eyes sparkling in life and happiness. She had been breath-taking. And he had found his spirits lightened.

 

And when she had fallen into his arms, he loved the feeling of her small body, weighing nothing against his chest. She had smiled up at him, completely unfazed by his scars. And she had sought his company the whole day, chattering away to him, smiling, laughing, and teasing. He found himself smiling now and gave up on his letters, getting up to pour himself a glass of wine.

 

He could hear the low voices of Babs and Sansa behind him as he poured the crimson liquid into his glass and raising it to his lips. He turned and sat with Sansa on the couch, keeping to his end. She smiled at him, that little smile that made his chest feel warm, and this time he couldn't blame it on the wine.

 

"I was just saying to Sansa she should play for us," Babs said, folding her book in her lap, "she told me she plays and sings for her family often – well, we are her family now, you should sing for us, Doe!"

 

Sandor knew she could sing and play – every accomplished woman her age could, "go on, little bird, it's either you or Babs and she's about as good as singing as your sister is at sitting still."

 

Sansa laughed loudly at that, throwing her head back.

 

"Oh very well," she said, putting her sewing to the side.

 

She stood and walked to the piano that sat before the windows, her dress flowing behind her with each movement, the setting sun silhouetting her body with a warm, orange glow as she sat, poising her fingers above the keys. Sandor turned in his seat to watch her fully and she paused, thinking of a song, then began to play.

 

Low, slow notes filled the silence that had been in the room. He watched her small, slender fingers move over the keys, making it look so easy. She smiled as she played, her eyes following her fingers, looking to each key before she pressed them. The melody was calming and somber, and when she opened her mouth and began to sing, Sandor forgot how to breathe.

 

"Gentle mother, font of mercy

 

Save our sons from war, we pray

 

Stay the swords and stay the arrows,

 

Let them know a better day"

 

Her voice was soft and smooth; moving through the melody like it had been created completely for her. Sandor felt gooseflesh break out on his arms and he couldn't take his eyes off her.

 

"Gentle mother, strength of women,

 

Help our daughters through this fray,

 

Soothe the wrath and tame the fury,

 

Teach us all a kinder way."

 

She kept her eyes upon the movements of her fingers. She smiled softly as she sang, each note clear and perfect.

 

"Gentle mother, font of mercy

 

Save our sons from war, we pray

 

Stay the swords and stay the arrows,

 

Let them know a better day"

 

When she was finished the room was filled with silence. She blushed and raised her eyes to him and blinked in surprise at his expression.

 

He couldn't help it; mouth open, eyes wide and staring at her. She blushed harder and stood, "I haven't played that in quite a while," she excused, "I'm quite rust-"

 

"-oh, little Doe, that was beautiful," Babs declared, dabbing at her wet eyes with a handkerchief.

 

Sansa smiled at her gratefully, she looked to him and his throat was dry.

 

"Definitely much better than Babs" he managed to croak out.

 

She laughed softly, cheeks still highlighted red and thanked him.

 

They stayed up until it was quite late. They played cards – Sansa sulking when she lost the third time in a row. She read to them her favourite story about foppish princes and beautiful princesses until she hit Sandor over the head with the book after his fourth yawn.

 

Eventually Babs' soft snoring filled the air and Sansa woke her gently, leading her to her room and bidding Sandor goodnight.

 

He lay awake until late in the night, thinking about the woman sleeping in the room adjacent to his, listening to her singing over and over in his head until sleep took him and red hair and blue eyes and a sweet voice filled his dreams.

 

V


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have given Sandor's sister my own name as mentioned in previous chapters. Things get a little sad here, I have always loved the idea of exploring Sandor's relationship with his sister so here's my little take on it.

Weeks passed and Sansa and Sandor grew closer each day. They spent every hour together, unless Sandor had business to attend to.

 

Sansa found herself smiling and laughing and feeling better than she had in a long, long time. Her days at Clegane house were happy, happier than Sansa could remember being in a long time. She was no longer plagued by nightmares, she slept soundly in her bed, comforted with the knowledge that Sandor was just a door away. It seemed the barrier that had built up between them since the Inn had completely disappeared.

 

She and Sandor would go horse riding together, visit the neighbouring town, or simply walk along the beach or through the house together. She spoke about everything and anything and over time, he opened up to her. He would tell her of childhood games he and his sister would play, tell her about his parents, he even showed her some of his favourite places to go as a child - a cave on the beach in the cliff, the kennels where the dogs were trained and kept, the stables where he groomed his huge, black stallion, Stranger.

 

Today he was in his study dealing with business and Sansa was in the drawing room writing a letter to Arya. She used some of the paper he provided her, leaving it unsealed - Sandor would do so for her later with his family crest he kept safe in his office. She told Arya all about her new home, how happy she was here, she told her all about the sea – it had always been a dream of hers to see it. She told her about Shae, and Babs, and everything she could think of. The letter was quite long. She omitted the details of their time travelling down here, the memories of the nights in the inn still fresh in her mind. She sighed, some nights sleep didn’t come easy to her. She would lie still in her bed, listening to Sandor move about in his room, eventually settle in to his bed. In the silence she would imagine him lying there, would he always wear his trousers and shirt or was that just for propriety’s sake during their travels? Did he think back to that time? Most likely not, she still remembered the look of disgust on his face after having woken to her pinned beneath him.

She remembered the feelings he had awoken in her, the undeniable hunger, the longing for something she wasn’t sure of but knew he could give her. The feeling of his hard body pressed against her, his breath against her skin, the searing heat of his hands.

She shook herself out of those thoughts, fanning her heated cheeks, berating herself. She should be grateful; he had given everything to her. He had married her, taken her away from Joffrey, gave her his name, his home, his protection, and still she asked for more. A marriage of convenience, that was all he had proposed, all he wanted.

She stopped in her tracks as she walked through the house, holding her letter to her chest as a lump came to her throat. She blinked away tears and swallowed past the lump, willing herself not to cry. Thoughts of all she wanted but could not have flooded her. Would she never have children? Never share a bed with her husband? Would she never truly know what it was to be loved? Would they continue on forever this way? As friends, bonded together just in name and signatures on a piece of paper? Why did this suddenly come to her now?

She shook her head, sniffing and fanning her cheeks, willing away any evidence of her tears.

She was very lucky to have all she did, that was what she should focus on.

She found Shae and gave the letter to her who delivered it to Sandor who would send it along with his business letters.

 

Sansa returned to her room, mind clear of her moment of negativity. She had to focus, there was much planning for her to do.

 

A few days ago, Babs had let it slip that it would be Sandor's birthday in two weeks and Sansa had grinned in excitement. She wanted to plan something amazing for him, to thank him for everything and also because Babs had told her he had never truly celebrated his birthday. So Sansa wanted this one to be special. She had already began working on his birthday present, she kept it hidden up in her room under her summer silks in her chest of drawers – there was no danger of him ever finding it, he never went into her room but still she wanted to keep it hidden, only her eyes seeing it until his birthday.

 

She hoped he liked it.

 

V

 

Sandor

 

Once Shae had taken the letters of business away to be sent, Sandor leaned back in his chair in the study and sighed deeply. He rubbed a hand over his face, rubbing his eyes tired from staring at paper and writing all day. It was only the afternoon, and he was missing her. Lately he had spent every possible moment with her, whether it was riding to the town to just simply watching her sew another dress. Today was the first time he had stayed away from her – all because the pile of business letters had grown to a mountain that couldn't be ignored.

 

He leaned back in his chair, looking up at the painting on the wall opposite him. He had told her almost everything there was to know about himself. But there was still one secret. It was something only Babs knew, the only person in the world who truly knew. But some part of him yearned for Sansa to know, to understand. The servants only knew rumours, but he wanted Sansa to see her. He wanted her to meet his sister.

 

He found her at the huge window on the second floor, the one that overlooked the gardens and sea, the sun was dipping in the sky, casting sunset in her hair. She was looking out over the sparkling waves of the ocean, a small, content smile on her face.

 

"Sansa."

 

She didn't jump, she knew he was there, his steps weren't exactly light. She turned and smiled at him and his heart did that jump it always did when she looked at him, her hair was a red halo around her head with the light shining through behind her. She wore a simple green dress that brought out the blue of her eyes, hugged her slim form perfectly. She was so beautiful.

 

"I have something to show you," he said, offering her his arm as she walked towards him, "come."

 

She looked at him questioningly but the smile remained on her lips, she slid her arm in his and he led her along the landing and down the stairs to his study.

 

She looked at him questioningly, she had never been in his study and she was no doubt wondering why he was bringing her here and what on earth he wanted to show her.

 

She followed him in and stood next to him in front of his desk, she looked about the room; at his desk, the chair before the fireplace, the bookcase with some of his favourite books, all his belongings. Eventually her eyes found the painting and widened.

 

He looked too. His sister had been beautiful – hard to believe from looking at her brothers. Her hair had been as black as raven's wings, he remembered how it had shone and glinted in the sunlight as she ran with him to the beach. Her eyes were silvery grey and sparkled like the water of the sea in moonlight. Her skin was pale and perfect, her little body so small when he held her. Her laughter was like the ring of bells and her smile as bright as the sun. She sat in her portrait; looking down at them with her eyes sparkling and her mouth smiling, she wore her favourite red dress and held a single white rose in her hands clasped on her lap. Her hair was lose and hung around her shoulders.

 

She had been her parent's pride and joy, everything they ever wanted.

 

Sandor had loved her for it. Gregor had hated her for it.

 

"What was her name?" the little bird's voice snapped her out of dark memories and he looked down into those blue eyes.

 

"Hadass."

 

"Hadass," she said as she turned back to look at her, tasking the name on her tongue, "it's a beautiful name."

 

Sandor could only nod and turned away from the painting, not wanting to look anymore.

 

"Come."

 

She followed him silently out of the back of the house, through the gardens until they reached the tip of the sand dunes looking down onto the beach. He walked along and stopped at her gravestone.

 

"This is where I buried her."

 

Sansa said nothing for a long time. He stared at his beloved sister's grave then the little bird did something he would love her forever for.

 

She silently dropped to her knees and clasped her hands in front of her, touching her lips to her fingers.

 

And she prayed.

 

Sandor watched her, amazed. Amazed at this girl – this woman, who surprised him time and time again. He showed her everything so private to him, everything no one else would ever see and she accepted it all, taking it in and healing him. Yes, she healed him.

 

When she stood, she smiled softly up at him and he couldn't help it, his arms reached out to her and held her tiny body close. He breathed in the smell of lemons and closed his eyes against the world. So there was nothing but her, enjoying how she felt in his arms, the comfort of how she fit so well against him.

 

"Thank you."

 

How long they stayed there like that, he didn't know, didn't care.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very short chapter – but I'm making up for it with the next one!

Joffrey grinned to himself, unable to help it as he watched the man work.

The forgery machine was expensive but he knew it would be worth it.

The letter Miss Stark had sent to her dearest sister lay on the desk beside the man as he worked, referring to it every now and then.

The letter would never reach Miss Arya Stark, such a shame.

The letter Joffrey had a servant steal from Clegane lay beside it. The wax seal very carefully taken off without being broken.

His plan was all falling into place, he knew Clegane well and he knew how he would act.

The servant he had spying on him in Clegane House, disguised as a simple stable boy blended in perfectly, he worked well and referred to Joffrey about all that transpired between Sansa and the Dog.

He told him of Sansa's smiles and laughter, that the young miss seemed very happy there. He told him of the servants talking about Clegane's sudden change in manner, how he too smiled and laughed and was completely in love with his new wife.

It made Joffrey sick.

And it made him smile; soon, very soon he would take it all away from them. He would drive the dagger he was twirling in his fingers into the Dog's back then make his wife scream for him.

He tucked the dagger into his boot and rose, calling out a command to the worker he had paid handsomely. He left the small room, stepping out into the cold, night air. He walked to the nearest brothel and picked a whore with red hair.

It would be so sweet, he could hardly wait.

V


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please excuse my awful, awful riddle writing. I had to make them up and I take Sandor's view in saying I. hate. Riddles. Especially having to write them. But it was all for a good cause.

Sansa was almost shaking in excitement when she walked down to breakfast.

 

Today was a very special day.

 

It was Sandor's birthday.

 

She grinned and suppressed a laugh that threatened to bubble up out of her when she paused before the door to the dining hall. Composing herself, smoothing her hands over her dress – the deep blue one Sandor had given her the day she left Tyrion's house to begin her new life with her husband. Her wonderful, wonderful new life.

 

She took a deep breath then pushed the door open and stepped into the room.

 

Sandor sat in his usual seat at the table, eating slowly but smiling at her when their eyes met. She smiled back and took her seat beside him, across from Babs who she had to quickly look away from as a grin threatened to take over her mouth. She had been planning with Babs and Shay for so long; working out every detail of the day, running it over with them, asking their opinions, making sure nothing could go wrong. Babs had smiled and winked at her as soon as her eyes flitted back up to her and Sansa had to cough into her napkin as Sandor poured her some tea.

 

When Joseth – Sandor's head servant – walked into the room with the tray holding letters for the master, Sansa nearly screamed from excitement, the anticipation was killing her already.

 

Sandor glanced at her empty plate questioningly – there was no way she could eat with so many butterflies in her stomach – but then the tray was placed in front of him with the single letter upon it addressed to "My Darling Husband".

 

Sansa grinned when Sandor looked between her and the letter, looking like she had just presented him a pile of mud. He picked the letter up and turned it over in his hands, not opening it, just looking.

 

"What's this?" he asked, looking over to her.

 

Sansa cast a meaningful look over to Babs then back to him, noticing his eyes following hers, "Open it," she said simply.

 

He raised an eyebrow at her and looked at her with his head cocked, but then he turned the letter over and broke the plain seal, unfolding it and read.

 

Sansa bit her lip as she watched his eyes flit over the words, his eyebrows rising and his mouth falling open. He looked to her and Sansa saw the excitement of a young boy reflected in his face.

 

"A treasure hunt."

 

She nodded, the laugh that had been bubbling in her chest all morning bursting out of her and clapped her hands gleefully, "Happy birthday, Sandor!" she exclaimed, getting out of her seat, moving behind him and throwing her arms around his neck.

 

She felt his shoulders move as he laughed and a hand came to close around hers at his neck, entwining her fingers with his.

 

Babs chuckled and leaned forwards, "the little Doe has been planning this for weeks, and ever since I let it slip the date of your birth and that you and Hadass would have a treasure hunt on her birthdays."

 

She saw Sandor's cheek rise as he smiled over to his grandmother and Sansa released him, standing straight, hands on her hips, "that's right, we have put a lot of planning into this – Babs and I worked very hard. So go get dressed for the cold weather and meet me at the front door in a half hour!"

 

He looked at her, that look she loved in his face. He rose, smiling, still holding the treasure map in his hands – with the first of three riddles Sansa had poured over many books in coming up with and bowed low to her, "as the lady of the house commands" he rasped. She giggled and he left.

 

Oh this was going to be fun.

 

V

 

Sandor

 

Less than a half hour later, the couple were walking hand in hand around the manor's gardens, pouring over the map as they searched for the first clue.

 

"So what is the prize on this treasure hunt?" he asked her as she squeezed her fingers in his and grinned up at him, cheeks and nose pink from the cold, almost winter air.

 

"Your present from me."

 

He was surprised, even now that she had taken the time and effort to get him something. He couldn't think what it was, the little bird surprised him every day and he knew she would be no different today.

 

He looked down at the map, reading the first clue. Sansa had sketched out a basic drawing of the house, grounds and beach. A red X marked the front door and black dotted lines led through the gardens and looped around to the kennels where another red X was inked. They walked along the route, referring to the map every now and then. When they arrived, a red thread was tied to the handle, disappearing into the kennels. Sandor let go of Sansa's hand reluctantly to push the door open. He captured the thread between two fingers and followed it past the cages, the string sliding through his fingers – they were all empty due to the dogs being allowed to run about in the yard – the cages only used for them to sleep in at night. He followed it until it stopped, tied to the cage door of his best dog. Tied to it was a small roll of paper – the next clue.

 

He handed the map to Sansa who was grinning like an idiot beside him – obviously very proud of herself - as he untied the string and unrolled the paper, in neat handwriting was written:

 

_Kneel beneath leaves of blood_

_And speak a prayer to me._

_Give me a single, white rose bud,_

_And a sign will come to thee._

 

He bloody hated riddles.

 

He muttered so out loud causing Sansa to laugh out loud, "I'll help you, I wrote it so it isn't too difficult! Take it one line at a time; 'kneel beneath leaves of blood' "

 

That was obvious; "The Godswood Tree." Hadass' grave.

 

She smiled gently and nodded, "let's go," she pulled him by his hand out of the Kennels and around the yard to the back of the house. They walked along the edge of the gardens – where the grass met sand until eventually they came to the tall, white wood and red leaved tree. The sun filtered through the leaves, casting red shadows on the ground and on the pure white gravestone with her name carved into it.

 

Sansa pulled the skirts of her dress up a little and knelt on the ground beside him neatly, then clasped her hands together, bending her head and pressing her lips against her fingers.

 

"Pray for her with me, Sandor," she said softly, eyes still closed, head still bent.

_Kneel beneath leaves of blood_

_And speak a prayer to me._

 

He shuffled from foot to foot uncomfortably, "You know I don't believe in your God."

 

He couldn't see it from where he stood but he knew she was smiling, "then just kneel with me and talk to her."

 

He stayed still for a moment, watching the shadows of the leaves move over her, then he knelt down. He didn't clasp his hands together, he rested them on his knees instead, bending his head and closing his eyes.

 

Hadass. If you can hear me, thank you for Sansa. Only you would be good enough to let me have someone as perfect as her in my life. So thank you.

 

He opened his eyes and waited for Sansa to finish her prayer. When she had she remained kneeling, turning her head to smile at him then handed him a white rose he didn't notice she had been holding.

 

"Give me a single, white rose, and a sign will come to thee," she quoted, her voice soft like her song.

 

White roses had been Hadass' favourite flower; she held one in her painting.

 

He took it from Sansa and turned back to Hadass, leaning over and went to sit it at the base of her gravestone but stopped when he noticed the small roll of paper sitting there. He placed the rose down and picked up the paper, standing as he unrolled it.

 

Sansa stood too, leaning on his arm as he read out loud:

 

_"I sit upon golden grains,_

_Where a little bird was free._

_A hound broke all of her chains,_

_And showed her the sparkling sea"_

 

"That one isn't very well written," Sansa excused, blushing, "it's too obvious."

 

He chuckled and rolled the paper back up, "the beach?"

 

She nodded and slipped her hand in his, turning to walk down the sand dunes. He felt her hand squeeze his every now and then as they walked, losing her balance and footing a few times but she didn't fall.

 

When they reached the sand the waves were crashing on the shore in the windy, cold weather. He walked, eyes scouring the ground far and wide until he saw it; a cross made from two sticks with red thread wound around them sitting on the sand.

 

_I sit upon golden grains._

 

He knelt down and moved the sticks aside, brushing and digging at the cold grains until his hand met a velvet red fabric. He pulled out the pouch and straightened, brushing off the excess sand before opening the drawstrings. Inside was another roll of paper.

 

"The last clue," Sansa said, hair flying around her grinning face.

 

He felt a pang of sadness that the treasure hunt was over after this one.

 

He looked up over the crashing waves hissing and spraying behind them.

 

_Where a little bird was set free._

 

He remembered her standing in the water, shouting at how cold it was, laughing gleefully and just having fun. Not rules to follow, no convention to meet, Just Sansa letting herself be free.

 

_A hound broke all of her chains._

_And showed her the sparkling sea._

 

All he had done was that; take her away from her cage to the sea where she could fly. He turned back to her; she was smiling up at him, eyes wandering over his face – scars and all - like they always did. Not for the first time, he had the sudden impulse to kiss her. He wanted to take her small form in his arms and press his lips to hers, hold her and thank her just for being her. She had no idea how much light she had brought to his life.

 

She nudged him out of his thoughts, "open it!"

 

He smiled and did as she bid.

 

_"Find a bird as red as sunset,_

_With autumn in her wings._

_Thread tells a story you won't forget,_

_In the simple gift she brings."_

 

He frowned, looking to her completely lost.

 

The little bird just stood, hands behind her back and grinning up at him mischievously, strands of red hair flying across that face.

 

The little bird. Red hair.

 

_Find a bird as red as sunset_

_With autumn in her wings._

 

She grinned, seeing him work it all out and brought her arms out from behind her back, holding a small, green box out to him with a red thread tied around it.

 

He stared at it in awe, he couldn't remember the last time he had received a gift.

 

He took it from her, untying the thread and opened the lid.

 

Inside, nestled amongst red velvet, was a yellow, silk handkerchief.

 

He pulled it out, stuffing the box into his pocket and held the soft, soft fabric in both his hands.

 

The yellow was his house colour, soft and silky. But what he stared at in complete wonder was the perfect needlework. A border of silver branches with red leaves ran along the hem of the handkerchief. In the middle was a black, running dog, a blue – the same blue as her dress – bird soared above the dog's head. His fingers traced the neat, perfect stitches, He could see that she had put a lot of time and effort into this.

 

He hadn't realized he was silent for a time until She spoke, her voice quiet and hurried, "it's not much, I know. I wasn't sure if you'd like it. I could make another one. Or if you'd rather something completely different I cou-"

 

His arms crushed her tiny body to his chest, holding her so close as if she might fade away. After a moment her arms came around him, holding as tight as she could.

 

"It's perfect," he breathed into her hair, feeling her shiver.

 

She pulled away to look into his eyes, "truly? You like it?"

 

He smiled and traced her cheek with his thumb, "I love it," he said, her face braking into a picture of happiness at his words, "everything is perfect, you going to all this effort for me me…thank you, Sansa."

 

She smiled at him, leaning into his touch, his thumb still stroking her cheek.

 

He realized then how close she was to him; his arms still held her flush against him, her face but inches from his own. The night at the Inn flashed back into his mind and he stiffened, ready to pull away but…he couldn't.

 

He was lost in those blue depths of her eyes, sparkling like the ocean.

“I’m glad you like it, Sandor,” her voice was soft, words spoken into the space between them, his arms still around her.

“I…I wanted to…to apologise for that night in the inn. I should not have…I forgot myself-”

He made a noise of surprise.

“No, Sansa, you did nothing wrong, I was the one to forget myself -”

She shook her head, stepping out of his embrace slightly, “no, it was it – I should not have made you sleep in the bed with me, I should not have been so forward, asking for more than you have already gave me – I understand why I disgusted you-”

Sandor reeled back at that, “what? Whatever gave you such a ridiculous idea?”

She blushed, looked at her feet, fingers twisting in the fabric of her dress, “because of how you reacted to me, running from the room like I had burned you, staying far from me all this time – I thought -”

He took her hands in his own, “Sansa no, you in no way disgust me, quite the opposite in fact. It was myself I was disgusted by – how could I treat you that way after promising you my protection I turned out no better than Joffrey.”

She gasped, hands flying to his face and he thought for a moment she meant to strike him, but her little fingers cradled his cheeks, forcing his eyes to her’s, those blue depths were watering with tears, his heart thundered in his chest as he looked upon her.

“Don’t you ever say that, Sandor Clegane, you are a better man than any I have ever known? You have given me everything, how could you think that of yourself? I will not have you speaking for yourself that way. You are my husband, in every sense of the word, I would have no other, it is you I want.”

She was so close to him, her sparkling blue eyes looking right into his own. Her words were sincere, making him feel so much, his chest swelling in adoration for this slip of a girl that had come into his life and like a burst of light had illuminated all his darkness.

His fingers touched her cheeks, wiping away a stray tear. He watched her lip tremble and touched there next, gently tracing the outline with his thumb. His other hand slid around to her small of her back pulling her slowly closer until she was once more pressed against his chest, her breath tickling against his neck as she let out a slow, shaky breath. He was pulled in to her, he allure of her rosy lips, watching in fascination as her tongue peeked out, wetting them.

 

He completely forgot about the cold bite of the winter air, the crashing of the waves, the wind that whipped their hair around their heads.

 

He forgot about everything but her, and her lips that pressed timidly against his own.

 

He gave up fighting at that moment, and his hand moved to the back of her neck, pressing his lips back against hers.

 

She sighed into his mouth and her arms here tangled around his neck. She was soft and warm and everything he needed. Her movements were timid and his hands held her tight.

 

When he pulled away for air, he pressed his forehead against hers and she grinned, a small breathy laugh escaping her.

 

"Happy birthday, Sandor."

 

He grinned at her, holding her close with the handkerchief held tight in his hand.

 

V

 

Sansa

 

That night they ate Sandor's favourite meal that Babs had specially had made for him, and then retired to the drawing room where Sansa brought lemon cakes she had secretly baked the previous day.

 

Babs gave Sandor her present; a collection of some favourite books she had bought from town, a bottle of fine, expensive wine and a small, velvet pouch that she murmured into his ear about, he had looked surprised at her words but had tucked it safely into his breast pocket and thanked her sincerely.

 

Sansa sat close to him all the while, her hand entwined in his whenever possible.

 

Since the kiss at the beach, Sansa didn't think it was possible for her to be as happy as she was. Her husband's warm body next to hers as they sat on the couch, listening to Babs reading her book to them was bliss. Every so often he would turn and press a kiss to her hand or temple.

 

Soon Babs asked her to sing again, she played and sang

_"My feather bed is deep and soft,_

_And there I'll lay you down._

_I'll dress you all in yellow silk_

_And on your head a crown_

_For you shall be my lady love_

_And I shall be your lord_

_I'll always keep you warm and safe_

_And guard you with my sword."_

_She smiled, feeling the gaze of Sandor on her as she pressed each key and sang each note._

_"And how she smiled and how she laughed_

_The maiden of the tree_

_She spun away and said to him_

_No feather bed for me_

_Ill wear a gown of golden leaves_

_And bind my hair with grass_

_But you can be my forest love_

_And me you forest lass."_

 

When the night was late and Babs stood, yawning to retire to her room, Sansa and Sandor went with her. She shuffled sleepily in front of them as they walked hand in hand, eyeing her carefully, worried she would topple over asleep on the stairs.

 

They delivered her to her room and stood outside Sansa's.

 

No words were exchanged; they had said it all already.

 

His thumb caressed her cheek tenderly and his grey eyes bore into her blue depths.

 

His kiss was soft and sweet but still made Sansa tremble.

 

When she was on the other side of her door, listening to him move to his own room she grinned until she cheeks hurt, undressing and climbing into the large bed.

 

She snuggled under the covers, reflecting on the day and slept with a smile on her face.

 

V


	24. Chapter 24

"When will Tyrion arrive?" Sansa asked as she shrugged into her long, grey fur-lined coat, Sandor holding it as she turned and slipped her arms into the sleeves.

 

"Tonight, I should think, if it doesn't snow again. He said in his letter he was resting at an Inn last night and should be here by the late afternoon at the earliest," he replied as she turned to face him, buttoning her coat closed. He reached out and fixed the fur collar which was folded back on itself. She smiled up at him and slipped her gloves on over her hands.

 

They were going to visit Hadass' grave, they did so every day if they could, snow had fallen thick and heavy through the past few weeks, now well into winter and today the sun was glistening behind heavy white clouds and the entire gardens were covered in a thick blanket of snow.

 

Sansa slipped her fur bonnet carefully over her hair which Shae had piled atop her head in an elaborate fashion.

 

They walked together in the snow, Sansa delighting in it crunching beneath her feet, the hem of her dress and coat brushing the soft white powder, reminding her of home. She was quite used to cold weather but with the woollen dress and huge fur coat, gloves and hat and the heat of her husband, she snuggled into as they walked she felt quite warm and content. The air nipped at her cheeks and nose colouring them red and she giggled and teased Sandor when she saw his nose a pretty pink colour.

 

The beach was a blanket of snow upon the sand, the sea crashing and spraying way below them. She looked up at the Godswood tree away in front of them, its red leaves as bright as blood, shining in the soft sunlight, a brilliant contrast against the pure white landscape.

 

They couldn't kneel; the snow would soak them through so they simply stood, heads bowed and eyes closed. Sandor stuffed his hands in his pockets while Sansa pressed her lips to her gloves as she prayed. When they were done they strolled leisurely in the snow, chatting aimlessly.

 

She hurried over to a small bed of snowbells that were growing from beneath the snow, she touched one drooping white bud fondly then nearly fell over at the sudden impact against her back.

 

She yelped and jumped up, turning around to find her coat covered in a ball of white snow. She glared over to Sandor who stood, hands behind his back, looking up at the sky whistling. The picture of innocence.

 

Sansa grinned and crouched down, gathering snow and pressing it into a ball, Sandor's attention returned to her then, façade leaving as he grinned, making ready to run. She launched the snowball at him and he dogged to the side, it soaring past to splatter against the ground.

 

He laughed out loud, "you'll have to do better than that little b-" he shut up abruptly when a ball of snow crashed into his face.

 

Sansa's laugher filled the air, having to clutch her sides when he blinked and wiped the melting snow from his face.

 

"Oh you're in trouble now, girl" he growled out and Sansa squeaked as he launched after her.

 

She ran, laughing and squealing and shouting out to him when he slipped on the snowy ground and fell flat on his backside. That caused her to laugh even harder and he jumped up, ready to pursue her again.

 

His hands grabbed her waist from behind and pulled her backwards, both of them falling to lie on the snow. His fingers tickled her and she squealed and laughed. He rolled her over so he was above her, gathering some snow in his hand and threatened to rub it in her face.

 

"No! I yield! I yield!" she squeaked out through her laugher.

 

He chuckled, throwing the ball of snow aside and leaned down close to her, "that's better, little bird."

 

She stuck her tongue out at him and he chuckled before kissing her lips gently. She kissed him back, sighing and tangling her hands into his hair wet from the snowball. His arms came around her, lifting her up out of the snow that was melting and soaking her coat and hair. He cradled her in his arms and she smiled against his lips. He held her close, kneeling with her in the snow and she sighed, opening her mouth to him. She shivered when his tongue slipped slowly into her mouth. She moaned involuntarily and pulled away, blushing. He smiled at her response and she cupped his cheek in her hand, kissing his scars softly.

 

"Let's get back, you're soaked and I don't want you getting ill," he murmured softly.

 

She nodded and he rose with her still in his arms, setting her gently on the ground.

 

V

 

Later that night, Sansa sat in Sandor's study while he worked at his desk. She was settled on the floor in front of the fireplace, her auburn hair drying slowly as she sewed.

 

Being in Sandor's study was a new development in their relationship – one of many. Before, Sandor's study had been the one place she was not allowed to go, because it was his private place, and also because above the fireplace hung Hadass' painting.

 

But now, she knew all there was to know about him, and he about her. And Sandor enjoyed having her in the study while he worked, she would often look up from her book or sewing or whatever else she was doing to find him watching her fondly.

 

This time she was watching him; he was writing a long letter to about some business – Sansa didn't pay much attention to the small details. His hair fell over his scars with his head angled to the side. His writing was quick and messy and he would every now and then sigh and lean back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his face and groan. Usually after finishing a long letter.

 

She frowned as she watched him write and he noticed, "What's the matter?"

 

She looked up at his gentle voice and smiled reassuringly, "oh it's nothing. It's just…I wrote a letter to Arya a few weeks ago – before your birthday. I haven't yet had a reply. I hope she received it."

 

She thought for a while, what if her parents had decided they couldn't forgive her elopement and had banned Arya from speaking to her? What if Arya was angry with her – hearing about all the good things here – the sea, somewhere Arya had always yearned to see and sail upon. Sansa realized she had boasted in the letter, caught in expressing how happy she was…did she even ask Arya how she was? What was happening? She couldn't even remember.

 

Sandor's hand touched her arm gently and she jumped, seeing him kneel before her, not hearing him rise from his seat.

 

"I'm sure it just got a lost, or perhaps her reply is slow because of this weather – that usually happens."

 

Sansa smiled and nodded, letting him think she accepted his answer. He rose and made his way over to his desk but paused when a knock sounded at the door. Joseth peered in, "sir, Mr. Tyrion Lannister has arrived."

 

Sandor grinned, "Bring him here" he commanded.

 

Sansa smiled, her spirits lifted at the prospect of seeing the dwarf again, she set aside her sewing and rose, moving to stand beside her husband and a small, blonde, mismatched-eyed body entered the room.

 

"I never thought these eyes would be so glad to see that ugly face," Tyrion quipped as he entered, grinning up at Sandor.

 

Sandor laughed, "Aye, I must say I've missed craning my neck to look all the way down at you, imp."

 

They laughed and shook hands, Sansa didn't think she would ever understand their relationship but she found herself smiling.

 

Tyrion turned to her, holding her hand in two of his and looking up at her with a happy expression, "this face, however, I could look upon for many years. How are you dear Sansa?"

 

Sansa grinned and kneeled to kiss his cheek, "very well," she said, laughing when his cheeks turned red, "it is so good to see you, Tyrion."

 

"Yes, well, I am one to sorely miss."

 

Sansa stayed with them as they spoke, Tyrion told her of her family's health – Bran had begun attending his first balls and there was a proposed courtship between him and a young lady named Miss Meera Reed. Arya was as wild as ever, Robb and Jeyne were to be married in the spring, Jon was proposing to join the military – Sansa knew it was something he had always had his heart set upon. And Margery and Reny were planning a spring wedding. She smiled at everything he told her but she was still concerned. She wondered why Arya had not written all this to her. Her letter couldn't have been lost due to the snow – she had sent it well before the first snowfall and would have had a reply back.

 

As she thought more and more into it her spirits fell some, tiredness took over her and her eyes were drooping heavy. She stood and excused herself, kissing Sandor goodnight and noticing Tyrion's eyebrows lift and mouth drop open at that. She smiled at him and kissed his cheek, bidding them both goodnight and left the room.

 

She resolved to writing Arya another letter in the morning and sending it off, it wouldn't do much good but it would give her some rest of mind if she did. She missed her sister most of all and wished she was here with her.

 

But as soon as she slipped between her bedcovers sleep stole her away.

 

V


	25. Chapter 25

"Things seem to be very different between you and your beautiful wife from when I last saw you both," Tyrion commented, accepting the glass of wine Sandor handed him.

 

Sandor collapsed into the chair besides Tyrion's facing the warm fire. He stretched his long legs out before him and drank deeply.

 

After a while of silence from Sandor Tyrion chuckled, "very well, I suppose the business of lovers belongs with them."

 

"We are not lovers. Nothing has changed."

 

"Oh I don't think so," Tyrion quipped, a smile in his voice, "Sweet smiles, gentle touches, content closeness with one another, a tender kiss goodnight? No, that speaks of love, my friend."

 

Sandor scowled into his cup but remained silent. It was true he and the little bird were more…intimate. Gods be damned he knew it – he loved the girl. How could anyone not? But how was he to know her feelings? She was soft and tender to him, kissed him eagerly and enjoyed spending time with him. But sometimes he wondered if that was all there would be – it was much more than he had ever dreamed of. But late some nights, desire flooded him at the thought of her and he could only find relief by his own hand. He hated himself for it, disgusted that he would think of the little bird so. He wanted her. With every breath she took he wanted her, to devour her. He dreamed of kissing her creamy skin, tasting her mouth again and again, moving within her and whispering words of love to her. But it would never be – he knew that. He was a brute of a dog and she a thing of the heavens. Though she kissed his scars and looked upon them with a smile, he knew he didn't deserve it. He didn't deserve her. He was content with just having her near, no matter how many times his heart swelled from her smiles, the sound of her laugh, the soft press of her lips.

 

He was snapped out of his brooding by Tyrion's arm swatting his. He jumped a little and looked over to the dwarf, ready to smack him right out of the chair when he noticed Joseth standing before them, a letter held in his hand.

 

"An express just arrived, sir," Joseth said, holding the letter out to him, "from North."

 

Sandor frowned and took it, nodding his thanks to Joseth who left the room.

 

North. Why would he be receiving an express from the North? His first thought was something had happened within the Stark family – but surely it would be addressed to Sansa if that was the case?

 

He broke the seal and opened the letter to find another inside. He hissed a sharp intake of breath when he saw it was addressed to Joffrey Baratheon.

 

He frowned at it, turning it over to find the seal already broken…but when he pushed the two half's together his blood ran cold. The letter was sealed by a sigil with three dogs – his house sigil. He looked over to his desk where his letters and ink sat – the ink stamp beside the pile of paper, abandoned by him earlier. It was the only one of its kind and was locked away in his drawer every night, the only way it would be imprinted on the seal was if…was if the letter had been sent from here, by him.

 

But gods be damned if he had ever or would ever write a letter to that golden haired brat.

 

He tore the letter open and read it in silence. He felt Tyrion's eyes on him all the while but he cared little, his eyes ran over every word, every line then when he was finished he read the name of the writer and felt bile rise in his throat. His eyes scanned the letter over again. And again. And again. Until he snarled, hurtling the letter from him like it was on fire and stood, pacing about the room.

 

"Gods, man, what on earth has happened?" he hard Tyrion exclaim and move to the letter, silence rained as the imp read it and stayed when he was done.

 

Sandor balled his hands into fists as phrases from the letter ran through his head in her voice, 'my beloved Joffrey'…'all is going according to plan'…'when shall you rescue me from this dull place'…'when he is dead we can be together at last.'

 

The letter was signed by her. He had seen her write many times – she wrote poetry, songs, letters to some shops in the town for materials, foods, letters to her sister – he saw because for letters of business she came to him for his seal – his sigil.

 

He felt like the entire house had risen and landed on his shoulders, pushing him into the ground. He felt heavy and collapsed into a chair, rubbing his hands over his face. The letter was in her writing – he knew her writing; neat and elegant. It was in her writing.

 

He didn't believe it. He muttered so out loud and was surprised to be met with Tyrion's silence. He looked over to the Imp who sat studying the letter carefully. He stood then, waddling over to the desk on his short legs and found a letter signed by Sansa that he would send in the morning – ordering some new fabrics for a summer dress. He looked from that letter to the other, studying it with his mis-matched eyes. Then he waddled over to sit back next to Sandor, sighing deeply.

 

"Look, Sandor you know I am a friend. Joffrey is a little prick and he'll hurt Sansa the first chance he gets because he gets his balls tight from doing so. And you know I adore Sansa. But even I have to say this letter seems the real thing."

 

Sandor didn't want to listen to him. He wanted to throw the letter into the flames and forget it ever happened.

 

"It doesn't make sense. Who sent this - it must have been copied-"

 

"How? Even if this forgoer managed to copy her writing perfectly how could they copy your seal?"

 

They were silent for a time.

 

"I saw genuine fear in her eyes. Whenever Joffrey was even mentioned the little bird would shake like a leaf. No one is as good an actor as that. It doesn't fit."

 

Tyrion thought for a while, "I don't believe this of Sansa – but I have been cheated and betrayed before. The evidence is there - I don't want to believe it either! Sansa is very dear to me and I can't believe this of her. I think you should speak to her of it in the morning. But this is all very strange."

 

Sandor's mind calmed and more of the letter came to his memory. She mocked him for his sister. She told Joffrey about their treasure hunt. She told him how pathetic it had all been. Only Sansa could have known all of that. Not even the staff knew as much as her, as much as the letter told.

 

He felt sick. In the back of his mind he was aware of Tyrion retiring for the night, leaving him alone in the room. His mind was a storm of thoughts, stabbing him like swords. His fists clenched and unclenched as he tried to make sense of it all but failed miserably.

 

He drank deep into his wine until he left numb and the room swam, but still he drank.


	26. Chapter 26

He didn't know what time it was.

 

He didn't know how much he had drunk.

 

All he knew was the rage burning deep inside him. The more he though about the letter that was held in his fist, the worse it got.

 

And the pain, stabbing, cold pain in his chest.

 

He had long stopped denying that she had written the letter. It was filled with too many details. Things only she would know.

 

Then he heard it; a small scratch at the door and the soft rattle of a hand seeking the handle in the dark. The door opened and a small figure crept into the room. His eyes had long adjusted to the dark and though he couldn't see her too clearly, he knew it was her.

 

She muttered under her breath, closing the door quietly behind her. She then crept as silent as death over to his desk, the moonlight filtering through the windows highlighting her slim body beneath her white nightdress.

 

His fist gripped his glass tighter when the sight stirred him in his breeches. He ignored it and watched as she muttered something he couldn't hear to herself then made a small noise of triumph when her hands found his desk drawer.

 

Something broke inside him and he stood. The next thing he knew, his hands were gripping her slender wrists tightly, his body pressing her back against the desk, eyes blazing into her wide, frightened depths.

 

"Come to steal more paper to write your pretty little words for Joffrey?"

 

"What are you – Sandor you are hurting me"

 

"I think it not much to how you are hurting me"

 

She frowned, looking at him like he was mad, "what on earth are you talking about?"

 

He tightened his grip and she yelped, tears watering her eyes, making them sparkle in the moonlight and she struggled in his grip, desperately trying to pull away.

 

"Save your fucking lies, I know all about it," he released one of her writs, thrusting the letter in her face, "I know."

 

She looked from him to the letter, lines creasing her brow, mouth open.

 

He thrust her away from him in disgust and moved to look out the window, over the rushing waves. The night was calm but he could not calm the fire raging inside him. He turned away from the scene that held so many memories he would burn out of his mind if he could and he saw her read the letter. Her face paled and her hands began to shake.

 

She looked to him then with an expression of sheer panic, "Sandor you can't believe this. I did not send this you must believe me-"

 

 “It is in your writing is it not? The letter is it sealed with my sigil? There are only two Clegane seals like that and one is on my wing which never leaves my finger,” he hissed, brandishing his hand in front of her face, “the other is locked in my drawer which I have just found you trying to get into!”

“I wasn’t looking for- Sandor I would never say those things!”

 

“What else am I to think? Who else knows those things?"

 

"You know I would never say this – how could I mock you for Hadass? I would never!"

He felt sick hearing his sister's name on those lips.

“Just how far were you willing to go, Sansa? Marry me to please him? Pretend to care for me? Kiss me? Would you have let me make love to you? Or were you just biding your time until he stuck so you could be together once I am dead and rotting?”

“Please, stop this.”

Her voice was a whisper, tears fell down her cheeks hot and heavy.

 

He felt sick trying to make sense of everything. He felt sick from the wine he drank. He felt sick looking at her and still feeling that longing pull to her.

 

"Leave me."

 

She moved to approach him, "Sandor-"

 

"GET OUT" he roared, and she jumped back, hands braced on the wall behind her, shaking in fear. Tears streaked her cheeks and a small, strangled sob escaped her. And he almost believed her. Almost.

 

She ran from the room and he collapsed on the floor. He wept, his fists beating the floor. He hadn't wept wince Hadass' body lay buried beneath fresh soil.


	27. Chapter 27

Sansa didn't think she could cry anymore. Her head was a blaze of pain, her eyes swollen and sore. Her chest and throat hurt from the sobs.

 

She had run from him, his anger terrifying her. But she had returned in the morning, speaking to him from beyond the door, begging him to believe her. But he stayed silent, his door locked.

 

She had returned to her room, throwing herself upon her bed and wept harder than she ever thought possible.

 

How could it be that yesterday everything had been so perfect, so wonderful? And now, everything had fallen to chaos.

 

She remembered the letter – shocked to see her own writing forming words she couldn't remember. Seeing her signature sign a letter that seemed to be by someone else. It had her voice, her writing, her mark. But she had never wrote it.

 

The letter painted her as Joffrey's accomplis – one who loved him with all her heart and played her part for him. It made it seem that everything had been a plan, a plan to hurt Sandor, pretending to love him while mocking him behind his back.

 

She pressed her face into her pillow as more tears fell from her eyes at her thoughts.

 

How could Sandor believe it? How could he possibly think she had no feelings for him? That she had loved Joffrey from the start? He had seen the fear grip her like the cold clutch of death When Joffrey was near her. Sandor had saved her time and time again – how could he possibly believe it?

 

But the letter held secrets only she would know; details he had told her, shared with her. She couldn't understand it – it was like a demon ghost had haunted her and whipped up this cruel trick.

 

A soft knock sounded at her door and she heard Shae's alarmed voice.

 

Sansa sobbed in the arms of her hand maiden, comforted at last by her accented voice, sweet smell and soft caress on her hair.

 

She told Shae all that had happened, clutching to her and staining her dress with her tears. After, Shae helped her into her bed, Sansa's body limp with exhaustion from crying all night and morning. Her wrists were red from Sandor's harsh strength but she had not the energy to cry. She stared at the red marks numbly while Shae wiped her face with a cool, wet cloth.

 

When Shae left her, murmuring something Sansa did not hear, she lay there still.

 

When sleep eventually claimed her, her dreams were filled with rage, grey eyes, a lion with sharp, piercing claws. She twisted and turned but no one came to save her.

 

Not this time.

 

V

 

 

 

The horse was a good one; it rode hard and fast, powering through the snow like there was nothing there.

 

Joffrey grinned, the letter would have reached them by now. How delightful.

 

He dearly wished he could have been there to see Sandor's reaction. It was all too good, too perfect.

 

And soon, yes, very soon, he would have his prize.

 

He tore them apart slowly and painfully, until all was lost for them both.

 

The he would make it so much worse.

 

He was almost there.

 

V


	28. Chapter 28

Shae had been watching him for a few weeks now.

She had noticed something strange when Sansa had mentioned to her one morning while she brushed her hair that she was worried about not hearing from her sister. She had sent a letter weeks ago, just before the master's birthday and had not yet received a reply. Her sister was always eager to reply to her when they were away, Sansa told her once she had gone to stay with her friend Jeyne Poole and Arya had wrote her almost every day.

Shae had resolved to asking Joseth about it, she liked Sansa. She was very kind and sweet, she was never cruel to her and Shae felt a great deal of affection towards the girl, like what she imagined having a sister would be like. She knew that if Sansa ever went away for a week Shae would want to write her every day, so yes, she did see her as a sister, she supposed.

But when Joseth had pointed to the boy who carried the letters to be delivered, she frowned. Shae had worked in the household since she was just a child, she had seen servants come and go, but only recently did this boy's face appear. He walked around the room, an arrogant air about him. His face was grubby and he chatted among the scullery maids and cooks. He seemed to have something to say to everyone.

So she watched him closely for a long time. And one day she noticed him receiving a letter from Joseth to be sent and she followed him to the stables. She watched him glance around, then carefully, without breaking it, peel away the seal of one letter, scanning the contents and nodding, satisfied. Then he tucked all the letters into his bag, the one he opened was slipped into his jacket. And he rode off.

And then this morning, she had found Sansa collapsed, her body wasted by her grief. When she told her of the letter and its contents, the result. She had been devastated. Sansa and Sandor had been perfect. And now, there was something interfering.

She left Sansa when she slept, murmuring Sandor's name in her sleep as Shae closed the door quietly.

She found the boy in the stables. Rage overtook her senses and she reached under her skirts, pulling out the dagger she kept strapped to her leg. She pressed the blade to the boy's neck, shoving him hard against the wall. His eyes flew wide and his lanky body went immobile.

He confessed everything to her when she drew his blood, realizing she would not hesitate to skewer him with the blade.

He told her of all the money Joffrey had promised him the day after Sansa and Sandor had left for here. He told her how Joffrey demanded he report every move the two made. He told her how Joffrey had him steal Sansa's letter to her sister, making sure the contents were usable and bring it to him. He told her of the forgery machine, how Joffrey had the letter forged in an exact replica of Sansa's writing, with his own words. He told her everything.

When he was done, Joseth appeared and helped her restrain him.

They brought him to Sandor's feet.

He looked awful.

His face pale and drawn, his eyes tired. But he listened to them.

Shae held the knife under the boy's throat and he told his tale again.

After Sandor was silent. Then without warning his fist struck the boy across his face. He fell into a weeping mess and Sandor banished him from the room.

Shae and Joseth watched Sandor rub his hand over his face, he looked much older than he was. Exhaustion had gripped him. His energy spent on rage and grief.

He sent Joseth to make sure the boy left the grounds without any bother.

He turned to Shae then, he thanked her sincerely for all she had done. Then he gripped her arms in warm, large hands that held her gently.

"Where is she?"

V


	29. Chapter 29

The waves crashed against the rocks way far below her. She stood with her feet flush against the edge. The wind whipped at the whips of her hair that framed her face, the rest pinned up atop her head. It was messy – she had woken without Shae there in the afternoon and she hadn't come when she rang the bell. So she dressed herself.

 

She wore a simple white dress with gold flowers embroidered around the neckline, a warm, red jacket over to keep the winter chill at bay. She held her bonnet in her hands before her and watched the sea move.

 

She had found herself here, just beyond Hadass' grave where the gardens ended at the cliff edge. It was a steep drop down to the rushing depths.

 

Her eyes were sore and red, she felt worn out. Everything had changed so quickly. Everything had gone wrong.

 

Sandor. Her husband. He believed her a traitor – someone with the only purpose of hating him, pretending love while reporting to that snake Joffrey. What would he do to her now? He would recover at some point, she knew. Would he banish her? Send her back to her family? Back to Joffrey? Fear gripped her and her hands shook.

 

She couldn't imagine being without him now. She was surprised with the strength of her feelings for him. Every day she woke excited with being able to spend time with him. She loved being with him, something she once would have thought impossible. And when he kissed her, Sansa had never been kissed before but even she knew it was something special. It was like in her stories and fairytales that he mocked.

 

She couldn't even describe it, was it love? She had always been taught that she would know love when she felt it but how would you know if you felt it?

 

It mattered not anymore.

 

No matter what she said to him he refused to believe her. She couldn't blame him – the letter was detailed. Far too detailed to be denied. And it was her writing. She couldn't understand it – it was infuriating.

 

But now, he would send her away. He would live disgusted by her and hate her.

 

Hate her.

 

Her hands shook so much her bonnet fell from her grasp. It rolled off the edge of the cliff and disappeared, falling down to the swirling, foaming waved crashing below.

 

Sansa leaned over, trying to see it, craning her neck to look away down.

 

"Sansa!"

 

She jumped at the sudden, gruff voice and her balance was thrown, she lost her footing and the next thing she knew she was falling.

 

Strong, almost ungentle hands gripped her, pulling her roughly back, dragging her as far away from the edge of the cliff as possible.

 

"Are you mad, girl? You could have killed yourself!"

 

She looked up into his face. That face she was terrified to be without. His eyes were red and dry. His face pale and drawn. His scars seemed exaggerated and he looked much older than he was. He was looking down at her with such alarm, and anger. And relief. Yes, she saw it there – relief.

 

"What were you doing?" he growled, his hands shaking her, a shadow passed in his eyes and he looked scared, "you weren't going to jump were you?"

 

She was in a daze, she heard his words but no sound came to her, she simply stared up at him, grasping onto this small moment she had, his hands holding her, his eyes looking at her, this was all she would have before he would banish her.

 

"Gods, Sansa – I would never want…I am so sorry I – Shae got the boy he told me everything I know you are innocent I should never have doubted you but this -"

 

"I wasn't going to jump. My bonnet, it fell; I was looking for it is all."

 

He sighed in relief and a rough laugh escaped him, "only you would risk such a height for a bonnet."

 

He was smiling. That was good. She traced his scarred mouth with her eyes.

 

But his earlier words came back to her; 'Shae got the boy, he told me everything I know you are innocent…'

 

"Shae got the boy? What boy?"

 

"A spy of Joffrey's that had been working in the stables – he was watching everything we did and reported it to Joffrey. He stole your letter to Arya and gave it to him – they forged that letter using some machine to copy your writing exactly. Shae brought him to me this morning, holding a blade to his throat and he confessed everything. I had Joseth send him away…"

 

Sansa frowned, taking it all in. Shae had saved her, she had proven her innocence.

 

"I am sorry I doubted you, and…Gods."

 

His hands moved to her wrists, bruised purple and blue in the shape of his fingers. He cradled them in his large, calloused hands carefully, looking down at them like they were broken china.

 

Then he leaned down and kissed the skin softly, so soft she might not have felt it, "I am so sorry, Sansa, I have been such a brute, can you forgive me?"

 

She cupped his cheeks in her small hands, pulling him to look at her. She stared into those grey depths and smiled, "of course I forgive you, I am just glad you found the truth – glad for Shae."

 

He leaned into her touch, his hands coming up to cover her own.

 

"I shouldn't have believed it – of course you would never be so cruel. You; sweet Sansa, everything good. I am sorry I was cruel, I scared you I – I love you and I hurt you-"

 

Her hands fell from his face to his shoulders, "-what? You love me?"

 

His eyes widened as he realized what he had said. He was quiet for a few heart beats, then he sighed, his hands moving to her small waist, "yes, little bird, I love you."

 

There it was. That feeling they said she would feel and know what it was. That feeling that made her want to soar right into the sky and burst out a squeal. She found herself grinning up at him, "I love you, Sandor."

 

He looked like she had just slapped him across the face with her shoe and she laughed, "you stupid man."

 

He grinned and his forehead rested against hers.

 

"From now on, I won't ever doubt you, I promise. A marriage of convenience is what I promised you, but now I ask you to be my wife in every sense of the word.”

She truly thought her heart would soar out of her chest, “yes, Sandor, my love.”

 

He kissed her softly at first, then his hands clutched to her desperately. She clung to him as he deepened the kiss, his tongue dancing in her mouth making her dizzy. His hands pulled her flush against his body, then one moved to her hair. He pulled out the pins, letting them scatter to the ground and her hair fell about her shoulders. He tangled a hand in her soft locks and she moaned into the kiss, not ashamed this time, eager to chase the desire that she had felt for him for so long.

 

He breathed her name and his lips kissed her neck, warm and wet and her body felt like it was on fire. Heat pooled between her legs and she squirmed, clinging to him when he bit down softly on her skin. She tangled her hands in his soft, black hair and pulled his head so his lips came hungrily back on hers. He was desperate and passionate and everything Sansa didn't know she had needed.

 

When they broke away for air they stood, foreheads together, panting and smiling.

 

"Shall we retire for the day, my wife?"

 

She giggled and kissed his lips softly, "yes."

 

He carried her all the way back to the house like she weighed nothing.


	30. Chapter 30

"If you do not stop your teasing, little bird. I will be forced to take you right here on this stairwell."

 

Her arms slipped tighter around his neck and her sweet breath fanned across his neck, "my, my, what would the servants thinks of that? You better take me to your chambers then, dear husband."

 

He kissed her with a growl and heard her soft giggle as she kissed him back. His hands lifted her and he was up the stairs two at a time. They broke apart breathless at his bedroom door and he kicked it closed behind them, setting her gently down on the bed.

 

He looked down at the little bird – his wife – lying on his bed. Her hair splayed all around her like a red halo, her cheeks were flushed and her red lips were smiling softly, and her eyes; those Tully blue eyes were looking up at him completely open and warm, waiting.

 

He kissed her with mounting passion, her fingers tangled in his hair while his hands undid the buttons of her red jacket. She struggled out of it and he threw it behind him, not caring where it landed.

 

He cursed and muttered when his large fingers tried fumbling with the laces and buttons of her dress and she giggled, pushing his hands away and undoing it easily, slipping the soft fabric off her.

“What a scandal we will cause; the sun is still high in the sky!”

“To hell with scandal,” Sandor rasped, a sly grin on his lips as his fingers trailed up her stocking covered leg, leaving a trail of fire in their wake, “I am a husband loyally tending to his marital duties.”

She giggled as he pulled her stocking down and off, pressing a soft kiss to the inside of her ankle on each leg before moving to her petticoat, corset and chemise removed until she lay there, bare beneath him, the sunshine flowing through the windows bathing her in it’s warm glow, her hair seeming like live fire as it shone around her.

Sandor sat back, eyes drinking all of her in. She was perfection itself. Her creamy skin was soft beneath his fingers, her small breasts rose and fell as she breathed, the rosy peaks of her nipples sensitive beneath his calloused skin, he watched fascinated as she made little breathy sighs at his ministrations. Her cheeks were highlighted with a pretty pink blush under his heavy gaze.

“My wife,” he murmured, almost to himself, in awe of her.

“You are still dressed,” she whispered, her hands reached up to push his jacket off him. He shrugged out of his clothes until he was as naked as she, discarding the rest of his clothes with a degree of haphazard abandonment. He pressed his body against hers as he had longed to do. Her skin was heaving against his, her body fitting against him like they had been created just for each other.

 

She tasted like lemons and something else he couldn't quite place, he held her and felt her moans vibrate against his lips. Her hands moved over his back, feeling his skin, the muscles tremble and flex underneath. She traced his scars and kissed them softly, sliding her hands into his hair, pushing it back so she could see them clearly.

 

He looked back into those eyes and saw everything he had ever wanted and never thought he could have. Did Hadass truly hear his prayers when he spoke to her beneath blood leaves? How else would he be loved by Sansa? He marvelled at this girl – this woman, how could he deserve such a thing? He and longed for her for so long, feeling it swell in his heart as his hands moved over her, detailing every inch of her to memory.

 

The little bird leaned up until she was sitting in his lap, straddling him, she kissed him hard and he chuckled at her sudden, impatient confidence. Her tongue slipped into his mouth, teasing and shy, coaxing him into a dance that made him growl into her mouth, feeling her smile against his lips. He gripped her around her hips, fingers tracing her soft, soft skin. Her hips rocked against him and he moaned as her heat ground against him, her movements were small and inexperienced but he felt her wetness, her growing need for him and it was enough to end him right there and then.

“Sandor,” his name was breathless, a cry of desperation, mounting urgency and need mirroring his own feelings.

“Any more of that, little bird, and you will make me come undone before we have even started,” he growled into her hair, licking at her neck.

He flipped them over, pressing her into the bed sheets, covering her body with his own. Her legs rubbed at his sides and a hand reached down to trace her thigh, rubbing and kneading the skin.

He kissed the hollow of her throat and down her chest, he kissed the valley of her breasts then kneaded one while kissing and suckling at the other. Her small body jumped and her back arched at the feeling and her gasps and breathy sighs fuelled him. He kissed down her flat belly and up a thigh. His mouth covered her wet heat and she moaned, hands gripping the covers trying to anchor herself at the foreign feeling. He devoured her, tasting her and grinding his hips against the bed to try and relieve himself some. She came undone, moaning his name, eyes rolling back into her head, her silken skin blushing red as she reached her high.

“S-Sandor…gods-”

He would never tire of hearing her say his name like that, he vowed to hear it every day for the rest of his life.

When she pulled him back up her body to re-claim his lips he whispered her name like a prayer to her gods and she clung to him, tasting herself on his tongue. He held her close every time she kissed him, her body pressed so close to his like he was trying to make her one with him forever.

When he moved in her he was slow and gentle, she scrunched her eyes shut against the pain at first then relaxed in small jerks of her hips, holding onto him and nodding. He kept it slow despite himself, trembling and breathing into her neck. He could smell her; lemons and sweat and the smell that was just her. She was moaning his name as he quickened his movements and her lips kissed every inch of him she could reach.

 

She came with him, he spilled deep inside her, breathing hard into her hair, hands holding her flush against him. She breathed his name in that moment and he kissed her tenderly.

 

Later, she lay with him beneath the sheets. The dim light of evening filtered through the windows. She lay across his chest, fingers trailing up and down, a small, content smile on her lips which she pressed to his skin every now and then.

 

His hand caressed her, the other ran through her long, soft hair, his cheek rested against her head.

 

He must have fallen asleep then because he woke to a knock at the door. Sansa stretched beside him, waking also and sat up, quickly covering her nakedness with the sheets. He chuckled at her and called for whoever it was to enter.

 

Joseth – calm and stoic as ever handed him the letter and kept his eyes calmly on the floor as Sandor read the contents. Sansa shifted beside him when he sighed.

 

"What is it?" her arms reached around his shoulders, lightly caressing his skin.

 

"Ready my horse, Joseth, I'll deal with this right away." When Joseth closed the door behind him he kissed Sansa softly then rose, dressing himself.

 

"I have some urgent business in town, it shouldn't take long, but it needs sorted now," he explained, pulling on his shirt and buttoning it.

 

Sansa nodded, business was always unexpected and she knew her little words couldn't make him stay – though he would try.

 

When he pulled on his boots and Sansa scooted down to sit behind him at the edge of the bed, her lips kissed the nape of his neck, around and then his lips when his head turning eagerly to her.

 

She pulled away only so her lips brushed him as soft as feathers, "I'll be waiting," she whispered and he groaned, she knew exactly what she was doing.

 

She giggled when his hands came around her and pressed her to the bed, lips hungry on her.

 

"Go! Sandor-" she burst into a fit of giggles, her small hands feebly batting him away, "you need to go! Joseth is waiting!"

 

He sighed against her stomach and untangled himself from her – with great effort.

 

He kissed her once goodbye then left the room quickly.

 

Gods, she would be the death of him.

 

V


	31. Chapter 31

Sansa wandered around her room aimlessly. She had stayed in Sandor's room until boredom had overcome her and sleep avoided her. She went to her room to retrieve a book or some sewing.

It had been two or so hours since Sandor had left. Business never usually took this long.

The house was unnaturally quiet – it was only nightfall and usually the servants were going about their last minute chores, or preparing for the next day. Something felt off.

Then just like that, she knew.

She sat down on the edge of her bed, wearing only her thin white nightdress but that had nothing to do with the chill that came over her.

He was clever. It was all part of his plan.

She sat on the bed waiting. Waiting for the lion to find her.

But she wasn't scared. Not anymore.

She wasn't sure how long she sat there – a few minutes? An hour?

All she knew, was when the handle rattled and the door opened, it was he who stepped out of the darkness into the dim light of her room with only one candle lit.

He stood before her, green eyes sparkling in rage, excitement, and madness.

He held the dagger in his hand and smirked at her.

"You have lost your fear," he said simply, disappointment heavy in his voice.

She stood, looking at him calmly and nodded.

He sighed, "I'll change that."

He circled her, telling her everything in his plan. He told her what he planned to do to Sandor. How he had sent him away with the façade of business. That he should have figured it out by now and come rushing back to her. But he would be too late. He knew it. She knew it. He told her of his whores. He told her all he planned to do to her. But still, she was unafraid.  
“The letter was clever,” she said, watching him smirk, conceited enough to enjoy the compliment.  
“It didn’t take much; some stolen paper, you letter to your sister, a few bribes here and there for the forgery.”  
“You have been watching us.”  
He nodded, leaning back against the wall, regarding her with amusement, “every moment, from you both leaving my uncle’s estate, travelling down here, your sickening affections for each other, I knew of it all.”  
Sansa fought the shiver, she truly despised him now, the childish fantasies of the blond prince she had felt upon their first meeting nothing more than that to her now. Before her she saw a mad man, truly evil in soul, watching her like a lion watches his prey, waiting for his moment to pounce.   
He twirled the dagger in his hands all the while. When he lunged for her she ran, heading to the door and screamed for help. But his hands clawed at her, sharp nails breaking the skin and staining her arms and back red. He pulled her back with strength that surprised her and she fell across the floor.

Her nightdress slid up her legs and she saw the glint in his eyes. She scrambled to her feet when he went to her again, grabbing her around her throat and held the dagger there. She spit in his face and he cursed, the dagger dropping from his grasp.

She tried to run again but again he caught her. His fist connected with the side of her mouth and she fell against her chest of drawers. He kicked her and she screamed in pain and he laughed, a loud, gleeful noise when he heard her, kicking her again and again.

His hands ripped her nightdress open to her waist and she clutched to her sleeves, trying to cover herself. He gripped her again around the throat and crouched on the ground before her.

"Have you come to love the dog? Come to love his ugly face?"

"Yes," she glared at him through the strands of her hair, through the blood and pain, her side burning and her breathing ragged.

He threw his head back laughing then reached up to the single candle on the drawers above her, "shall I make you just like him?"

Her eyes widened at his words and she kicked, screaming, desperate to get away but he straddled her, pinning her arms beneath his weight painfully, the hot wax of the candle dripped onto the delicate skin of her neck and she screamed. Then he thrust the single flame down onto her skin and watched her writhe and struggle.

The pain was intense. She struggled, trying to move her neck to snuff out the candle against her skin but he held her fast and trailed the flame across her skin, from her neck to shoulder. She felt the skin blistering and tightening as it burned and the smell filled her senses. She knew Sandor had endured so much worse and that gave her a sense of strength.

She kicked, struggling under his body but he wouldn't move. Then her fingers found the blade of the dagger and she gripped it, feeling her skin pierce but she twirled it around, struggling to concentrate and think past the pain and she thrust it up. It sank into his arm and he screamed, leaping off her, the candle clattering to the floor, wax dripping to snuff the flame out.

Sansa stood, gritting her teeth against the pain at her neck and shoulder; it was burning like she was still on fire and constant, never relieving for a moment. She brushed her tears away and realized she still held the dagger in one hand, blood covering the blade and her.

She rushed at him with the knife and he darted to the side, but she twisted, instinct taking over and she wasn't sure how, couldn't remember. But she saw the knife buried in his back, through his heart. Blood spurted out and she let go, stumbling to the floor, against the wall behind her.

He stared wide at the sky, coughing and blood dripped out of his mouth. He turned as if to look at her but his knees gave out and he fell on his face. He coughed, blood pooling on the floor then was still.

Sandor burst into the room then, "Sansa!" his shout was desperate.

She turned her head slowly to see him and his breath caught in his throat. He rushed to her, pulling her into his arms and holding her like she would disappear at any moment.

"Sansa, my love, are you alright he pulled away, cupping her face in those large, scarred hands she loved so much and peered into her face. She smiled with blood drooping from her lip.

"It's over. He's dead"

He saw the scars then, her flesh that would be blistered and oozing and tender.

The noise he made was horrifying and his hands held her softly, "Sansa…no."

She winced, the pain was unbearable and darkness clouded her vision, but it was good darkness, this darkness was taking away the pain the taste of blood in her mouth. Everything.

V


	32. Chapter 32

Sansa woke to familiar, smiling faces.

Shae and Babs helped her sit up and Sansa whimpered when she remembered the burns. Her neck and shoulder was wrapped tightly in white bandages. She felt some paste over the burns that gave some relief to the pain. They hurt still, but not as much. She looked about, finding herself in Sandor's room.

"You have been asleep for a day and a half," Shae answered her unspoken question.

Everything came rushing back to Sansa and her breathing was difficult and painful, "be careful, Sansa, you have a broken rib and a lot of bruising."

"Where is Sandor?"

"Speaking with the officers," Babs told her, fussing about her pillows, "they came for the body yesterday."

Panic flooded Sansa when she remembered the knife imbedded in Joffrey's back, his body lying still in his blood on the floor.

"They have convicted Joffrey – apparently there were many accounts of him abusing women with your description – many whore owners reported him after his death was announced. His family is answering for his crimes and damage. He would have been hanged for his crimes, It's too bad you killed him, they said," Babs continued, adjusting her into a much comfier position and took her seat again.

Relief overtook Sansa and she slumped back into the warm, soft bed.

At last, she was free.

Shae dabbed her forehead with a cold, wet rag and it felt good.

"Thank you, Shae, Sandor told me of how you caught the spy working for Joffrey."

Shae smiled down at her, "what are sisters for?"

Sansa smiled brightly at her and would have hugged her if Sandor had not burst in at that moment.

He rushed to her side, "Sansa, thank gods you are awake, how are you?" She smiled at him kneeling beside her bed, reaching out to cup his scarred cheek with her hand. He leaned into her touch, covering her hand with both his own then kissing her palm.

"I'm fine, it's over," she said weakly.

Shae and Babs exited the room quietly, lending them privacy together.

"Your scars…" his hand reached out and she could feel his touch though he hovered over the bandages.

She reached up and tangled his fingers with her own, kissing his rough skin, "it's alright, my love, it's over now."

A thousand emotions stormed through his eyes but he stayed quiet, squeezing her hands held in his and kissed her gently.

She felt sleep overcome her and smiled when she felt Sandor's body lie beside her on the bed. He cradled her to his chest, holding her gently but securely. His heat surrounded her and she forgot the pain. He kissed her hair and whispered in her ear then sleep stole her away.

V

A week later, after word had reached them and preparations had been carried out for the journey, the carriage pulled into the drive of Clegane House. Jon and Robb rode in on horses behind it. Jon looked dazzling in his military uniform – red coat with gold buttons. Robb looked so much older; stubble dusted his jaw and cheeks and his auburn hair was thicker, longer.

Sansa leaned against Sandor, grateful for his support; arms linked in her own and holding her hand, the other wrapped around her small waist. The bandages were gone – the doctor saying she needed to air the skin to help it heal, the worst is over, he had said. Where there was still pain, he had Sansa take pills and chew leaves to ease it, her movements were limited but not impossible. The burns were a red and pink and stung to the touch. They ran in horrid, jagged patterns from the skin just under her ear, down her neck and shoulder, down her collarbone and the swell of one breast, down her arm to just below the shoulder. She wore a dress which had a low neckline, and one arm cut off, leaving that entire area clear. She spent much time outdoors, the cool air calmed the hot skin, taking the heat out and relieved the pain better than any drugs. The burns were only light, looking and feeling much worse than they were – nothing compared to what Sandor had endured – to his great relief.

Her side was still very bruised, it had healed well but it was difficult for her to stand. Her lip had been split and her cheek cut, she couldn't even remember the injuries, they healed well too and were not too noticeable under her powder. Her hand where the blade had sliced her skin was bandaged also.

Her mother; thin and pale and tired emerged from the carriage, seeing the scars cried and rushed to her beloved daughter, holding her gently like she would break and showering her cheeks with kisses.

Arya was next – long hair a mess down her back, her face, usually bearing a cheeky grin was worried too. She hugged Sansa and frowned at her bandages, "I would have burned him too, I hate that he did this to you."

Jon kissed her cheek softly and asked how she felt, then greeted Sandor kindly, Robb hugged her gently but close and she closed her eyes in his arms, she had missed him. Bran and Rikkon – they had both grown so much – hugged her and were full of questions that she couldn't answer since they came one after the other.

But it was when her father was before her, looking down at her with solemn, grey eyes that sparkled with tears at the sight of her that her reserve broke. She buried her face in his chest and cried like a babe, Sandor's hand that had been holding her the entire time released her and her father's arms wrapped around her securely. The crying hurt her neck and her shoulder but she didn't care.

Her father's hand rubbed up and down her back and his words were soft and gentle in her ear.

When she had calmed, Babs ushered them all inside, servants took their coats and they all went to the large sitting room that overlooked the sea and gardens. Babs went off to get tea and Sansa's hand reached for Sandor's when she moved to sit with him. Her parents sat opposite them and Arya sat with Robb and Jon at the cards table.

They talked about everything – from the very beginning she told them – with Arya's help – everything that had passed between her, Joffrey and Sandor. They all listened quietly, her mother sighed and frowned and even cried at some parts, but her father remained stoic and quiet. Sansa told them of how she and Sandor had grown to feel for one another – leaving out the incident in the Inn – and that they both now loved each other, as man and wife.

She smiled when Sandor's hand squeezed her own and she leaned against him, relieving the ache in her side a little.

The day passed in a blur; but everything seemed to be working out.

Arya and Jon took Bran and Rikkon to the beach. Sansa spoke with Robb about Jeyne for some time, he begged her to be at the wedding and she laughed, "of course I will! I wouldn't miss it for the world!"

She glanced over and saw her mother speaking deeply with Sandor, even laughed softly at something he said and looked over to her fondly.

When everyone returned from the beach, Arya's dress was soaked to the waist and she was dribbling puddles everywhere. Her mother shouted, alarmed and her father scolded her for not being careful, but Sansa only laughed and took her upstairs to lend her one of her own dresses.

While Arya sat in one of Sansa's petticoats before the fire, warming herself while Sansa selected a dress that would fit her, she asked her about the letter from Sansa that Joffrey had interrupted. Sansa told her the contents and Arya grinned when she told her that yes, she truly did love Sandor.

"I knew it! I knew it ever since he saved up that day at the Tyrells!"

Sansa laughed, "oh Arya, I have missed you," she hugged her sister close.

The Stark family stayed for a week, growing to love Sansa's new home as she had. Sansa smiled and laughed and was overjoyed to see her family accept Sandor into the family. Everything was falling into place, everything would be fine.

It was over now, she was free.

V

Sandor

The house was a buzz with the little bird's family's departure. Their carriage was loaded and ready to go and they were saying their goodbyes.

He smiled when Sansa cried, clutching to her parents in farewell. She kissed her brothers all goodbye – the little ones wiping their cheeks disgusted but her older ones kissing her softly and hugging her.

When Arya threw her arms around her sister's waist Sansa laughed and staggered back slightly, but Sandor reached out and steadied her with a touch to her back.

When they all went to the carriage, Sansa went with them, waving and smiling and leaning in the window to speak final words to her mother - promises to visit – Eddard Stark approached him.

"Sandor I…I thank you, sir. For all you have done for our daughter. I believe I misjudged you, I am glad she had you to count upon."

Sandor nodded, mumbling that it was no inconvenience, usual pleasantries that her father accepted gravely.

"I am also to understand from my daughter that you and her…share an understanding. That this arrangement at first to be one to keep her safe now in fact is one of love."

Sandor raised his head, looking directly into they eyes that looked a great deal like his own, but lighter, "yes, sir."

"Do you love Sansa, Sandor?"

"I do, I love her very much."

The older man nodded, a small, almost undetectable smile on his lips, "Then you have my blessing."

He held out his hand and Sandor shook it, his grip firm and strong.

"Welcome to the family." This time he did smile, eyes creasing and he looked a few years younger.

He turned and went to the carriage, kissing the little bird goodbye once more and stepping in, shutting the door behind himself.

Sansa waved them off, walking backwards slowly until she was back at his side, leaning against him which he knew was to relieve the pain from her small body.

When the carriage was out of sight, she turned to him, grinning up at him, pressing her body against his, and resting her chin on his chest.

"I love you, Sandor," she said then, his fingers caressing her soft hair, the other hand around her small waist.

"Aye. And I you, little bird."

He kissed her and felt – for the very first time – that perhaps there really was a god up there, blessing him.

\- Fin -


	33. Bonus Chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little bit of extra for the story – family! Cleganes. That is it truly finished now! Thank you again everyone for reading!
> 
> -Vee

The little girl with thick, auburn, bouncing curls ran, laughing through the long blades of grass. The sand grains moved with her under her little, bare feet and she looked down at the crashing waves with sparkling, grey eyes.

Her older brother called out to her and waved, nearly already at the beach. It wasn't fair; he was older than her and could run faster.

"Eddard! Hadass!"

She turned at the voice of her Papa, seeing him walking with Mama down from auntie's tree.

"Don't run too fast! You might fall and hurt yourself!"

"Yes, Mama!" she called out, pulling her skirts up so she wouldn't snag them on the grass like last time.

When she reached the beach, Mama and Papa had caught up and they walked together.

Mama's hair was flying around her face, she shivered and Papa held her close against the cold wind. Mama couldn't wear heavy fur anymore; her neck and shoulder hurt her. Hadass' eyes traced the white scars there. She thought they were beautiful, brother had told her Mama got them fighting a lion! Mama was very brave.

Her brother called out to her and she ran to him, into the water and squealed, laughing when the cold water rushed up to her knees, soaking her skirts.

Mama would scold her later but she used to do the same, Papa told her so.

She looked back to where Mama and Papa stood and Papa touched Mama's face gently. She smiled up at him and kissed him. Mama and Papa loved each other very much.

\- Fin –


End file.
